Sugar and Spice
by LadyFangs
Summary: No one would ever consider him a hero. She damn sure wasn't a damsel in distress. But together they were better than either thought possible...
1. Chapter 1

**Sugar and Spice**

**By AquaSoulSis aka LadyFangs**

Fucking skinny bitches made his cock sore. It was like screwing a skeleton, all bones, no meat. The pussy was dry and it rubbed his cock raw. And while some pain he did enjoy, _that _wasn't his particular brand. It didn't help much that he was sittin' in a dingy, smoke-filled bar scoutin' for ass and all he was comin' up with were skinny bitches.

And not even the slim kind of skinny that was more muscle than fat and still worth a good bounce, nah, not even that. What he was lookin' at right now was that sick kind of skinny, that malnourished shit that was nowadays passing for "healthy" and had little girls goin' bulimic.

This was the kind of moment that made him miss the old days. Back when women were real—real tits, slightly thick around the middle, wide hips- the kind of shit to make a man's dick go hard and stay hard day in and day out.

Victor wrapped his large hand around the cup that had magically refilled itself with dark brown whisky in front of him. His thick, black claws chinked against the glass as he raised it and downed the fiery liquid in a single gulp, slamming the glass back down and sending it sliding back down the bar top for another.

He turned around on the stool to get a better look at his surroundings, fishing around in the pocket of his coat and pulling out a long thick cigar. He brought it to his lips, lit it and took a long drag, the smoke temporarily clouding his immediate line of sight.

A slender figure with a tiny skirt walked by in front of him, throwing a smile his way as she balanced a tray of drinks on one hand.

His cock twitched a reminder of his present situation.

Not bad, that one. But he could smell the youth on her.

Victor was many things. Mass murderer, expert thief, computer hacker, heartless, cold blooded bastard…but pedophile wasn't in his repertoire of crimes. No one could accuse him of moral behavior by any means…but shit if there wasn't honor among thieves.

Tiring of his present situation quickly, he rose from the bar, threw down a few bucks, downed the refilled glass of whisky that had appeared and pushed through the door to the exit. There was a strip-joint across town. At least the view was better there.

**.**

**.**

She had found this place three weeks ago, by chance. Actually she'd been following her mark, a heavy-set, balding guy with a bad comb-over and a very expensive suit.

The instructions she'd received had been simple. Take him out, no mess. The hiring agent hadn't been disclosed and the entire transaction had gone through a third-party vendor. Someone wanted this guy dead a whole lot, and judging by how much she was making off the job and the amount of effort made to conceal the payer's identity, "mini-Trump" as she'd come to call him, had pissed off the wrong person.

She'd told her contact it would take at least two months to get the kill. Sure, she could do it quick and dirty, but they had wanted discretion. And that required a little more work. So, she'd set about studying her target. Cataloguing his daily routine, staking out his business, his house, his comings and goings. She followed him everywhere, even when he went across county on "business trips".

That was his excuse for the frequent visits to the strip clubs.

His favorite place was New York's Gold Room. He was a regular on Sunday nights—an odd time, but once she'd done a little more digging, she'd discovered was the optimal time for loaded pockets to get their jollies.

Sunday nights brought out the power players, New York's business and political elite and out-of-towners who wanted to get their rocks off in a high-class place with a code of silence.

The owner had taken one look at her, his eyes skimming across the tight shirt with two buttons undone and hip hugging pencil skirt and Alexander McQueen pumps—and had hired her. After all the patrons were VERY particular.

She didn't have to take her clothes all the way off—unless, of course, her john paid extra. And she could pick and choose who, when and if. Each customer had his own particular kink.

Most of the time, they couldn't even get it up and preferred the domination side of the tricks.

In her two weeks at the club, she'd spanked, strapped, tied and teased. All the while watching and waiting on her mark.

Now, as she pulled herself up the pole and flipped upside down, holding herself up by her legs, she looked out across the crowd of suits and saw him—her mark, watching her intently, that hungry look in his eyes.

She slid down the pole and onto the stage, opening her legs into a split before slowly winding her body back up—the heavy bass thumping around her driving her movements.

She could feel his eyes on her and licked her lips as she added an additional switch of her hips, finishing off her set to a flourish of applause.

Tonight was payday.


	2. Chapter 2

**Sugar and Spice**

**Chapter 2**

He was under-dressed for the crowd but he didn't really give a fuck. In places like these, only one thing spoke—green. And he had it to spare, and right now, there was somethin' in his sights that he was definitely ready and willing to pay for.

He grabbed a seat in the back of the club, in the shadows and watched the crowd. Bunch of fat, yuppie types—easy guttin' he knew from experience. These were the kind of humans he hated. They were worse than the druggies and the whores—he understood _them_, partly because he understood their lives. The cast of suits he was presently in the company of had one thing in common- greed. They lived by it, and they often died by it, and one thing that always gave him satisfaction was the fact that most of them died by HIS hand. Chalk it up to that psycho babble shit Stryker's head shrink used to go on about.

He'd been in for about an hour, watching the dancers closely, he was in sniffing distance of them—literally, and one by one, as they came and went, he dismissed them.

The pickin's were better here, but the pussy…fuck if it wasn't all the same. Those big tits, smooth bellies and round asses—he should have known his wasn't the only nose looking to get up in em. Judging by the smells coming off 'em… the stench of stale sweat and semen…he wouldn't be the first of the night—and he'd be damned if he took anyone's leavings.

Couple of the waitresses had been over, steadily refilling his classes, and one had been so bold as to scoot close and slip a hand down the inside of his thigh. It had taken an exorbitant amount of control not to break the frail's hand. He'd growled low in his thought as he caught her fingers, extending his claws to dig in. She'd let out a yelp, her eyes getting wide and for the first time that evening he smelled a scent he actually liked…fear…mixing again with the stench of stale pussy. No other waitress had come near him since then. But it didn't matter.

A low murmur of appreciation brought his attention back to the stage and broke him out of his contempt for the present company.

Damn.

He watched her shimmy up the pole, flip and hold on by her legs.

His cock jumped in his pants, and he took the moment to readjust himself.

The way she wound her body down the shimmering steel made nasty thoughts of her bounding on his pole jump to the front of his mind. And when she hit a split on the stage, legs spread wide, he'd started having visions of himself pumping between them.

And he was even close enough to catch a whiff…and smiled lasciviously when he realized it was nice and clean. The pupils of his eyes dilated in the dim light, growing into large, dark orbs as he drank in her form.

A little on the short side, slim…with a full ass, hips and bouncy tits…firm flat stomach…clean pussy…

Sabertooth licked his lips and rose from the shadows, walking slowly, and deliberately toward his target, watching as she winked at some john in the crowd and slipped backstage.

Oh no. He didn't do seconds—he'd be the first. 'Sides…it had been at least 24 hours since his last kill. His claws itched.

**.**

**.**

The Gold Room actually featured several smaller rooms in addition to the main floor. They were all in the back—in case the club got busted by the cops, and only the clubs high rolling patrons and the girl's "special clients" knew pass codes to get in them.

She'd already given her john the signal and knew he would be making his way to her soon—Per club directions the encounters were always monitored, the dancers given about 10 minutes to "spruce up", and she used the time to refresh her makeup and change costumes. She'd worn practically nothing on stage—just a nude g-string that blended with her skin and matching "bra" (if it could be called that) with nothing but strings and two triangles that covered her nipples.

It took a lot to maintain this body. Hell, she liked to show it off sometime.

The new ensemble was different. Shiny black leather, laced with mental chains…thigh high boots… she smiled to herself and looked into the mirror.

Reaching down, she pulled the long, thick, braided object between her fingers.

Whips and chains. She had to laugh at the campiness of it all. Poor guy would have a heart attack. Literally.

**.**

**.**

He followed in the shadows as she made her way down a long corridor— and he had to admit—he liked her new "ensemble". The better to rip off her in a minute. He knew for a fact these doors were soundproof—which meant he could have his way for as long as he wanted to. She stopped at a door on the far end and, seeming to sense him, paused a moment, looking his way. He dipped into a shadow and watched closely as she turned back to the wall and quickly punched a key pad mounted on the side of the door. He watched her fingers, and smiled as the door slid open, closed behind her. He decided to employ the element of surprise, and waited for two minutes, before, walking slowly down the hall toward her door, his claws fully extended and tapping against the walls.

**.**

**.**

This was the part of the job she hated. Direct contact. Ugh. She cracked her whip and began a slow glide to the round, satin covered bed in the middle of the room, where her john waited.

"Strip." She demanded, stopping just out of his reach and lifting a leg to place on the bed, cracking the whip to emphasize her point.

She waited expectantly has his eyes grew wide and he licked his lips and clumsily started working at the buttons on his shirt.

Shit…at this rate, she'd be here a while, and really, all she needed to do was close in on the kill, but for some reason…it just didn't _feel _right. She needed to get this over and done with quickly.

He was still fumbling with the buttons on his shirt when she dropped the whip and jumped on him, knocking him backward onto the soft cushions of the bed. Her legs straddled him as she ripped the shirt off and started working on his pants.

"Oh yes, mistress…" he wheezed out, closing his eyes as she pulled his pants and around his ankles, revealing a smallish bump under the tight, white briefs he wore.

He had fat, hairy thighs and looked wholly unappetizing and she stifled her shudder of disgust with a fake, sugary-sweet smile.

"Do you want me, baby?" she whispered, pulling him back up to a sitting position and burying his face between her breasts.

"Yes mistress…"

She slid her arms around his neck, then his chest…listening for just the right moment…searching for just the right spot…

Closing her eyes, and moving her hips to keep him distracted she focused…and…

A bolt of energy surged up her spine and through her arm, still hovering on his heart as she pushed it out through her skin and straight into him. His eyes went wide with shock and just as he let out a scream, she heard a soft whir, followed by the swoosh of the door opening.

She didn't even have a chance to move off the now dead body before a rush of air breezed past her and she up and flying across the room—her back slamming against the wall as the door closed again.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Author's Note:<strong>_ Thanks to everyone who has put this on story alert. And, to borrow a line from a fellow writer: Reviews are the only way we get paid!


	3. Chapter 3

**Sugar and Spice**

**Chapter 3**

When he came through the door she was on that fat fucker's lap and he saw red. He lunged across the room, throwing her off the man as his fat body slumped onto the ground in a crumpled heap. Dead.

She quickly got to her feet and tried to dash to the door, but his larger frame blocked it and he smiled down at her, showing a row of perfect white teeth with two extremely long…

"Here pretty, pretty…" he baited, looking to see what her next move would be. The stunt she'd pulled on the fat guy wasn't half bad and now that he knew she was a mutant, he wanted to have some fun—see what else she could do.

She didn't disappoint him.

He went to grab her and she immediately went slack in his arms forcing his grip loose, and just before he turned he heard a cracking sound, followed by a stinging pain across his back that made him flash-back to when such a thing had been all too real and common place. At the sensation and the sound the fragile grip he still had on reality snapped, and he wasn't interested in sex any longer—he wanted something more…satisfying.

With a roar he turned and lunged for her again, pushing her down onto the floor, and he hissed at her, savoring the sweet smell of fear as it rolled off her skin.

She closed her eyes as he raised his fist figuring she was just accepting death but just as he brought his hand down to slash her throat, he saw a blinding white light, followed by the sensation of warm hands on the side of his face—he let out a scream as his mind felt like it was tearing apart before everything went black.

**.**

**.**

Great. Just fucking great. Now what the hell was she supposed to do? She looked to the two bodies now crumpled at her feet, giving the bigger one a swift kick as she stepped gingerly over the other, wincing slightly at the pain in her back and hip from when she'd hit the wall, and the scratches. There'd be bruises in the morning too.

She didn't know who the bigger man was, but somehow, he'd gotten in, caught her in the middle of the act and…

And what?

She didn't know what he wanted from her. A fight? He'd certainly gotten that. She didn't think the two men were related. She'd been careful. Her mark hadn't had a bodyguard. And she would have definitely noticed someone like _him _- a mutant bodyguard.

A simple job had just become far more complex. For one, she could easily explain the fat guy—and she'd already had that mapped out—heart attack in the middle of freaky sex. No one would blink twice at that one. And since she could cry at will and look slightly traumatized, she knew she'd get away with it. She'd given these people fake ID's fake address, fake socials, hell…she'd even donned fake finger prints so NOTHING would be traced back to her.

But the emergence of the other man made everything ten times more difficult. And how the fuck was she supposed to get out this room leaving two dead bodies?

A groan startled her out of her musings and she cast a wary eye down to the ground, letting out a gasp at the sight of the larger man _moving._

It was impossible. She'd hit him with enough energy to down an elephant. How...?

Fuck thinking about it.

She moved quickly to the door, keeping one eye on the slowly-waking man as the door swooshed open and she eased out into the hall, moving quickly to grab her shit and leave.

An easy job had just become very, very messy.

**.**

**.**

He came back to consciousness, disoriented and groggy. One large hand grabbed the wall to stabilize his still swaying body. This must be what drunkenness felt like, if he could ever get drunk enough to feel it.

Victor closed his eyes blocking out the spinning red walls, before re-opening them.

Finally, it looked normal, except for the pant-less dead guy still on the floor.

He inhaled and scrunched his nose up at the foul smell of human excrement hit him. Yeah. That guy was definitely dead.

He groaned and gave a twist of his head, cracking his neck before glancing down at his watch. He'd been out for about 45 minutes, which meant he needed to be making an escape soon. It was about time for someone to come looking. As he walked to the door and stepped across the body, a whiff of something sweet and perfumed caught his attention—the woman.

She'd done something to him. It gave him a good buzz. His brain was still tingling and something felt…different. It took him a moment to realize what it was. That… _need_ he felt…the always present red-tinge in his eyes…it wasn't there anymore. He felt…better. The beast was sleeping. Whatever she did, he'd get to the bottom of it.

He wanted—no _needed _to find her. Figure out what she did.

Victor was outside the club and following his nose down the sidewalk when the wail of high-pitched sirens and streaks of red, white and blue lights whizzed past him in the direction of the Gold Room.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's note:<strong> _Thanks for reading and putting this on story alert. Remember, in the words of StarTrekFanWriter, "reviews are the only way we get paid!"_


	4. Chapter 4

**Sugar and Spice**

**Chapter 4**

She made it back to her hotel and was hurriedly packing up her belongings when her bedroom door burst open.

She was still riding off an adrenaline high and spun around with her gun drawn only to have it swatted out of her hand. Before she could even open her mouth to scream, a hot heavy hand covered it and she was pulled by her arm up and off the ground and forced into the door—which closed at the impact of her back against it.

She tried to raise her hands against him but he pinned her, this time with his body, jerking her hands above her head and holding them with one of his. His other hand was still around her mouth.

"Shh… I ain't gonna hurt ya if ya don't scream."

His voice was low, coming out more as a rumble and seeing the precariousness of her position she had no choice but to comply. It was either yell and draw unneeded attention and get killed, or stay quiet and possibly get killed. Her eyes were wide open, looking into his, pale blue ones and she closed them quickly, to try and get a measure…searching searching…she sensed…, curiosity and something else. Before she could get an idea of what that something was, a wall shot up between her thoughts and his and she opened her eyes again, shocked that he'd managed to lock her out. That was a first. He was still staring at her, this time his head cocked to the side, watching her intently with a smirk.

"I'm gonna remove my hand. If you scream, or try to run, I WILL find you. And I WILL kill you. Understand, frail?"

She murmured "yes" into his hand and he removed it from her mouth. She inhaled, trying to catch her breath a bit.

He still didn't remove his other hand from around her wrists and kept her body pinned to the wall as he continued to talk.

"What did you do to me?" He asked calmly.

"I_ thought _I killed you," she retorted, pissed with herself for being at the mercy of lord-only-knew who. Her eyes darted around the room, searching for her gun and of some way to get to it.

Seeing where her eyes were traveling, he chuckled a bit.

"If yer sonic blast didn't do it…ya honestly think your gun would?"

"Let me go and let's try it." She was defiant now. He was playing with her, and she couldn't stand that patronizing tone.

He looked at her a moment, seeing the fire behind those big blue eyes, and the devil in him just couldn't resist. He let go of her hands and took a step back, letting her fall to the floor.

She quickly rolled out of his grasp, grabbed her gun and shot.

The silencer on the barrel muzzled the bang as the bullet whizzed through the air and shot straight through his heart. He felt the usual burst of pain and anticipated the darkness that always came with a death-shot as he slumped to the ground.

Seeing the black-clad figure hit the ground, she waited to see if he was breathing. After a moment's hesitation, she rose and walked toward him, peering down at his slumped form.

The claws on his hands were still very much exposed and she suppressed a shudder at the sheer size of them, long and dark, and - raising one hand to her neck to touch the swollen red welts that had started to appear—sharp.

"Boo."

He jumped up, catching her by the ankles and bringing her down to the floor before pouncing on top of her, his weight pressing down on her chest so that she could barely breathe.

"Satisfied? That actually hurt a bit." There was blood on his bottom lip and his teeth were now slightly stained.

"What do you want from me?" she whispered out, for the first time, genuinely afraid of what he might do.

Rising off her, he walked away and moved to settle his bulk in the sofa chair next to the bed.

Instead of answering her immediately, he licked his lips and wiped the back of his mouth on his hand.

"Let's start with your power. You zapped me. Then you tried to get in my head."

He didn't sound angry, and those piercing eyes were once again focused on her.

"I'm a telepath. I can influence most people's thoughts…I can…project my energy into a person…" she said, softly, taking a seat on the floor across the room from him, her back against the wall.

"That's how you killed that john. Heart attack," he mused thoughtfully, more to himself than to her.

"Yeah."

"How much did you get paid for the job?"

She opened her mouth to rebuke him for the insinuation then realized to what he was referring.

"My client paid me 35-thousand to take him out."

He was relaxed now, and had thrown his dirty, boot-clad feet on the bed, leaning back in the sofa chair cushions, chuckling to himself.

"You'd make more sellin' that sweet ass of yours."

At that comment, she bristled, and jumped up, about to tell him off when he rose and walked toward her and she realized, no matter her own sizeable skills, she couldn't take him in a fight—she only rose to the middle of his chest.

"Yer sexy, with a smart mouth. Too high class to sell it. So I know you ain't no whore. You're an assassin. A pretty decent one. But I want to make you an offer. So go ahead, and name your price."

For the first time in their encounter, he wasn't slamming her against a wall and she studied him, judging his serious. The mental wall she'd felt earlier dipped slightly and she could sense he was being serious.

Folding her arms across her chest she looked at him.

"You can't afford me."

"I said, name your price."

"How long's the job?"

"Indefinitely."

Hm… she did about 10 jobs a year, more or less…the average price was about 10-thousand each…minus, this specialty case…

"500-grand."

He looked at her, hard then. "Try again, sweetness."

"Fine. 300-thousand. With 50-grand upfront. Wired to an account that I designate."

"Fine. Give me a phone and the number."

She silently handed him her cell phone and his voice dropped to barely a decibel level, sounding more like a purr than actual words. After a moment he hung up, and she waited.

"Now, call your bank."

He tossed the phone at her and she caught it. Turing from his view, she keyed in the password and her eyebrows rose.

She shut the phone and turned back to him, still skeptical.

"So. If we're going to do this, I should at least know your name."

"Victor. What's yours?"

"Birdy. They call me, birdy."

His lips parted in a smirk, revealing those sharp fangs once again.

"You know cats eat birds…and I can't wait to see how you taste_._"

She shot him a hot glare. "I'm not your whore. Besides, _that_, not even you can afford_._"

* * *

><p><em>"Reviews are the only way we get paid"- STFW<em>

.


	5. Chapter 5

**Sugar and Spice**

**Chapter 5**

She was awakened by a hard shove to her shoulder followed by the impact of her head on something hard. The first words out of her mouth were a string of expletives as she jumped, glaring at the perpetrator. He merely laughed as the truck they were in pulled up to a stop in front of a tall, steel gate.

Birdy rubbed her forehead and swore to herself again as she looked up at her surroundings.

Twenty-four hours ago she'd been in a New York strip club, about to make a kill. That kill had ultimately gotten her a better-paying job, if a worse employer.

Looking up at the tall, imposing wall of steel before them, she wondered, not for the first time, what had possessed her to say yes to his offer.

"We're here," that deep rumble again. As far as she could tell, he had two volumes: church mouse and amplifier.

"Where's here?" she asked testily, as he stepped out of the truck and disappeared behind a shrub at the base of the gate. After a beat, the steel walls began to part and he returned, jumping back in the truck and slamming the door.

It sagged a bit under his weight as they drove through.

"Oh my…" she couldn't get the word out as the walls gave way to a circular courtyard, with inlaid cobbled stones and a fountain in the center. Looming in front of them was an ivy-covered gray stone mansion, with carefully pruned and styled hedges in the front yard, its roof set in red-clay colored tiles.

Victor cast a side-glance at his companion and smirked at her gape-mouthed stare as they drove around the side of the house. Before them the ground began to part and soon they were driving underground.

Birdy blinked a few times as her eyes adjusted to the sudden dimness and she realized—she was in an underground garage.

Cars, motorcycles, trucks—all styles, some modern and new, some old and…was that a Ford Model T in the corner?

The truck slid in to a vacant spot and cut off.

"Get out." Victor moved to get out the truck and she followed, still in a bit of shock.

He reached in the pickup bed and grabbed his own duffle, and began moving down to the far side of the garage, leaving her and her suitcases still in the truck.

"Bring yer ass, Bird." He didn't even turn around as he walked through a door, his voice bouncing off the concrete walls.

.

.

The inside of the home was a blend of the rugged and the luxurious. It was obviously a man's house—the oversized dark leather couches, and fur rugs (she had a sneaking suspicion those were very, very real) mixed with modern things, flat screen tv's electronic kitchen gadgets… and even a library.

The last one surprised her. She hadn't pegged him for the intellectual type.

"So, whose house is this?" she asked, already knowing the answer, but wanting to hear him say it aloud.

Instead, he snorted and paused on the staircase. She looked up at him.

"Since yer here, and we didn't break in, put that pretty little head of yours to use, woman." He continued climbing and she followed him down a long hall with several closed doors. He stopped at one on the far end and opened it, walking in. She followed.

"This is where you sleep. When I call, you come. And don't fuckin' break nothin' or I'll take it out of yer pay…" His look was impassive as he stared at her a moment, then a slow smirk spread over his lips, showing a hint of fang, letting his eyes roam up and down her figure. "… or, some other way."

Victor turned to walk out the door, but Birdy, keeping her brave face on, couldn't let him go without a quiet retort of her own. She didn't think he'd hear her mutter under her breath.

"You do, and I'll put your ass down for real, next time."

Like a flash he turned around and, quicker than she could respond, lunged at her, grabbed her by the neck and raised her off the ground.

"You try that,_ frail_…and telepath or not…I'll make sure the dogs find your body in pieces. We're a long way from civilization…and I enjoy the sound of screamin'."

He squeezed his hand tighter around her neck, letting her feel the bite of his claws. She cringed as the tips broke skin but kept her eyes defiantly on his, even as her face began to turn pink from the lack of oxygen. A tense silence fell between them before he hissed at her and threw her across the room. She bounced as she landed on the bed, then the floor.

The door slammed behind him and she could hear his heavy feet thumping down the hall as she lay on the floor, gasping for breath and cursing him to the highest rafters of the house and beyond.

.

.

Victor left her alone in her room and walked down the hall to his own suite, stepping in and sealing the door behind him.

He didn't bother turning on any lights, instead shedding the heavy black coat and dropping it across the arm of the large recliner in a corner of the room.

He kicked off his shoes, and undid the buttons on his shirt, shedding clothes along the way as he walked into his bathroom. His bare feet met with the warmed marble tiles on the floor, contrasting with the coolness of the rest of the house. It had cost him a pretty penny to have the floor installed with the heaters, but he hadn't regretted it. He didn't like having cold feet.

Pressing a button on the side of the wall, he watched as the large whirlpool began to fill with water.

It would take a minute for the tub to fill up—all 80-inches of it. Yet another one of his many small "luxuries". In fact, there were quite a few, like the house itself- his private haven. He'd chosen it for the location—about 30 miles outside of Vancouver, nestled a mile from its tree-lined entrance, surrounded by a natural fortress with more than 60 acres where he could run, hunt, and fish if he chose too.

He'd uilt the house about 25 years ago, after more than a century and a half of bouncing from place to place, never staying in one spot very long. That decision was made after fleeing the States back to Canada after a particular mission had ended very, very badly.

The German excursion, and a woman. That had been what brought him back here. Back…home. Victor shook his head as if to physically shake off the thoughts, then settled his large frame down into the scalding hot water, turning the jets on low. His muscles began to relax from the gentle massaging and he closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the rim of the tub, silently congratulating himself for the foresight to get the biggest bathtub he could find. He stretched his legs out.

This place was his hideaway.

So why in the world had he brought _her _here? He could have easily set her up somewhere downtown, kept her on a short leash and track her whereabouts at all times. His operatives were fairly reliable at those kinds of things. But he was still feeling the lingering effects of her mind-buzz, tempering his rasher reactions and this, he had to suppose, was what had made him invite her into his house without even so much as a background check.

He swore to himself before reaching a long arm out of the water and to the side of the tub, where a cell phone rested.

He dialed.

"Yyy..ello?"

He suppressed a scowl at the chipper voice on the other end of the line. "I need a background check. Quick. Name's Birdy. Last gig—New York. Some fat, rich guy. Give me all you got. Oh, and Steve? … I'm waiting."

He didn't wait for a response before hanging up.

Victor Creed had contacts. His _contacts_ had contacts. He knew it would only be a matter of time before he got what he needed. Then he could decide whether he wanted to keep his new pet, or get rid of her. A sigh escaped his lips as he dipped his head under the water.

His plans on gettin' laid had gone to shit soon as she'd hit him with her "glow." He rested under water, letting a hand slide down around his cock as he began to stroke, idly wondering if her sex would yield similar effects.


	6. Chapter 6

**Sugar and Spice**

**Chapter 6**

"Birdy get the hell down here, now!"

His voice boomed through the house, attacking her ears, making her jump up from the bed. At the sudden movement, her muscles screamed. She'd been choked, tossed, hit, squeezed, and her body was paying for it right this minute.

It didn't help that she was in a bad mood and him yelling at her from the bottom floor of the house wasn't putting her in any better spirits.

"If I hafta come up there…"

She rolled her eyes at the threat, ran a hand through her hair and reluctantly got out of bed. She'd slept in dull gray sweatpants two sizes too large and a ratty t-shirt, intentionally looking as unattractive as possible.

Her bare feet padded down the long curved staircase and across the hall, into the kitchen where she'd heard him yelling from.

"Yeah, _boss_?"

Not bothering to keep the sarcasm out of her voice, she looked at him, standing by the center island, his hand waving at the stove.

"I'm hungry." His voice was back down to that barely-above whisper and he narrowed his eyes at her, crossing his arms.

At the pronouncement, her mouth dropped open slightly. Seriously? Did he really think she was some damn maid?

"Keep it open and I'll find somethin' to stick in it."

He started walking out of the kitchen, brushing past her to knock her off balance, and swatting her on the ass to make her jump.

She turned and glared at his retreating back, her anger stopping her from admiring the view.

"I like my meat rare, my eggs over easy. Hurry up. We got a job to do tonight."

With a sigh, realizing that arguing would be futile at this point, she reluctantly turned and started opening cabinets to figure out where everything was that she'd need for his breakfast, and hers.

.

.

The smell of cooked ham and eggs wafted down the hall and into his study, filling his nose and making his stomach rumble. He hoped to god the woman could cook. So far, he wasn't disappointed.

Victor sat back in the large chair, reclining slightly, his feet up on the desk as he checked through the files before him on the computer screen.

The background check he'd run on her was done, and not to his surprise, there wasn't much there to go on. She was relatively new to the profession; her file didn't go back much past four years. Gotten her start somewhere in Asia—the first hit tied to her had come in from Bangkok—he smiled at that once- great city. No one there asked questions about dead bodies.

All her targets were businessmen, middlemen or somewhere in-between. She went for the white-collar types, and he had to smile. While she was good at what she did, he doubted her type of assassination was much like the jobs he liked to do.

She didn't like to get her hands dirty - clean kills, all of them.

He liked it messy. Personal.

Victor clicked on another file, shrinking hers and opening another as he heard the sound of her footsteps approaching. Before she could knock, he called out to her.

"Open the door." The heavy wood door opened and she appeared. He growled low in his throat at the raggedy sweats and t-shirt she had on as she brought him his food—a plate piled high with eggs and ham.

"Put it over there. " He pointed to a table in a corner of the study and she set his food down. He hit the "print" button before standing and walking toward the printer as the documents began to slide out. She watched him.

"Did you eat?"

"No."

"Then go get food and bring it back here with ya."

"I'm not hungry."

" Bullshit. It's been at least 36 hours since you ate. That's how long I've had you. Go."

She sighed but thankfully, didn't say anything as she left. She was back in under two minutes, carrying her plate. He was already seated at the table and, not looking at her, waved a hand to bring her over.

She sat across from him and started eating too.

.

.

Somewhere between the kitchen and his office she'd resolved to at least try to get along with him. He was paying her, after all, and she had to admit, the gig did come with some pretty fancy perks. The mansion, for one. And maybe, after a while, he'd let her play with some of his toys. She'd spied an all-black Bugatti Veyron in his garage off in the corner, looking as if it had just come off a lot. It had gleamed at her, and Birdy liked big things—cars included. She liked to go fast and that car was the ticket.

And, her boss wasn't bad to look at either. The anger had melted away as she'd cooked, leaving her mind to dwell on her new situation. It had wandered over to Victor between the cracking of the eggs and right before she put them in the skillet, and now that she was sitting directly across from him, her eyes had a better opportunity to take inventory.

At least the view of her companion, though not the man himself, was nice.

His head was down, intently focused on the plate in front of him, but he hadn't moved to put on a shirt, and so she had a perfect view of his neck, his shoulders, relaxed now, deceptively smooth with the smooth outlines of hard muscle underneath. His chest was broad, and hairy, with dark hair that angled southbound, like an arrow…

Damn. She blinked, shaking off the thoughts to look closer at his eating habits.

The word she thought of, watching him maneuver the fork in one hand and his claw to carefully slice the ham in front of him was…meticulous.

He was neat. Freakishly so. And fast. She'd piled his plate high with everything and within only five minutes it was almost completely empty.

And she again thought to her surroundings. Everything was neat and clean. Not a speck of dust anywhere and either he hired a maid or he kept it clean himself. She had a feeling it was probably a combination of the two.

So, Mr. Creed was a neat-freak. It made her smile. Just wait until she left her shoes in the hall one day.

.

.

Victor was in the middle of carving out the bone from the ham slice on his plate when he felt her eyes on him. He looked up.

"What?"

"Nothing."

There was a hint of a smile playing at the edge of her lips that made him scowl.

"Out with it, frail."

"It's just…you're so…neat."

An eyebrow rose on his forehead, but instead of responding, he expertly speared the slice of meat on a claw and popped it into his mouth.

They finished the meal in silence, and after she'd removed both the plates and come back, he was ready with the files.

"We got a job, Bird." She flinched at the massacre of her name on his lips.

"Time to see how you do in the field. Be ready in ten minutes. It's cold where we're goin'."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: Thanks folks for the alerts and favs. I appreciate it. And for those who took the time to review, I thank you too.<br>**


	7. Chapter 7

**Sugar and Spice**

**Chapter 7**

All he'd said was that it would be cold where they were going, and nothing else. So, she'd decided on a ivory sweater and black tights, with dark brown ankle boots. It was simple, comfortable, and as she admired herself in the mirror a moment, she had to admit—figure-flattering.

"Birdy!"

The yell made her jump and she quickly slammed the overstuffed suitcase on the bed shut and began moving down the stairs.

He hadn't been kidding when he said ten minutes.

Victor was standing at the bottom of the winding staircase, his arms folded across his chest, scowling at her.

"You're late."

It was all he uttered before turning away to walk to the door down the hall where they had entered the house the night before.

She knew better now than to curse him aloud so she fussed mentally at his retreating back as she dragged the heavy suitcase behind her. Clearly, he knew she was struggling but refused to help, and it wasn't the first time that Birdy found herself trying to figure out what made her agree to work for him.

She threw her bag in the cab of his truck as he started the engine, the sound filling the entire garage as they began moving out.

Birdy saw the mansion's gray stones fading off into the distance behind them as they drove.

Victor didn't even look at her as they rode in silence. After a while, and feeling like she needed to say _something_, she opened her mouth. "So, if I'm going to be working for you, and living with you…maybe it would help us if we knew more about each other."

She was trying to make small talk and he knew it. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. She was talking but she wasn't looking at him, instead choosing to stare out the window as the outside world blew by them in a blur of gray and green.

He'd done nothing but yell, leer and give her the silent treatment since she'd been with him—not to mention the tossing incident of last night, and still she didn't seem to be afraid of him. That was good. He felt the need to be a bit more…careful, with his new _pet_. He'd learned long ago not to rely on others—that people would turn on you, try to hurt you as soon as they got a chance, and betray you. And he had no doubt in his mind that she might do the same thing. But what he needed from her, he couldn't necessarily ask for. Nor could he take it by force. It went beyond his sexual proclivities into something deeper, darker and far more sinister. Victor was in control now, but he wasn't fooling himself into thinking that it would stay that way. Soon Sabertooth would get his playtime too—and that's when she'd know how MUCH he needed her.

"Whaddya wanna know?"

She was surprised he'd answered her. It had been several minutes since she'd asked the question and when he hadn't replied she'd let it go. Now his words met her ears like a soft rumble, something she was coming to associate with his normal way of speaking, when he wasn't yelling. She was finding that she actually liked the way he sounded. The vibrations of his voice rumbled through her.

"What are your abilities?" she asked, eying the black nubs posing as fingernails on his hands.

Those fascinated her. Birdy had a thing about hands. She felt she could tell a lot about a person by just looking at their hands, how they lived, how they worked, how they played. Victor's hands were like that too. Large, with long, thick fingers. They looked rough, with a ruddy look to them that recalled old times when men worked outdoors, and no matter how much they washed, their hands were permanently stained with the colors of the soil they tended. That's what his hands reminded her of. Strong hands. Working hands.

Victor saw where she was looking and the corner of his lip turned up a bit. He flexed his fingers on the steering wheel, never slowing down, and slowly, methodically, the nails began to grow, longer, thicker, sharper, splitting the cuticles. Birdy's eyes grew wide as she watched them grow, wanting so much to touch one, but not daring. And, just as slowly as they grew, he began to retract them until the sharp tips once again rested in their nail beds.

"Wow." She breathed, and in that moment Victor caught a scent that he filed away for later.

"Advanced hearing, sight, taste, touch, _smell_…he paused on the word to let it sink in and continued. "Strength, _stamina…"_

_Like a big cat, _Birdy mused to herself, shifting a bit in her seat and crossing her legs. Watching his hands had brought back an image of the way he'd looked that morning—bare-chested and muscular, with dark hair trailing a path south. The thin grey sweatpants he'd worn had seen better years, as they'd hung slung low on his hips. She'd been too pissed at him to admire the sight then. But for some reason their close proximity was making her…hot.

She hit a button on the side panel of the door and the window came down; her hair blew into her face as she leaned into the wind.

Victor kept his eyes on the road, going silent again, just letting the smell of her waft over him.

**.**

**.**

She woke up as she felt the truck begin to slow down, and rubbed her eyes, trying to blink the sleep away. She peeped out the window to see where they were. A separate hangar at the Vancouver airport. He pulled the truck up to the hangar and the doors opened for them to drive through.

A giddy feeling came over her as a large airplane loomed before them. Victor pulled the truck over, shut off the engine and got out. Slinging his duffle bag from the cab, he started walking toward the plane. Birdy jumped out the passenger side, struggled to lift her suitcase, and followed him.

"We're going in this?" She couldn't hide the incredulity in her voice as they climbed the stairs into the waiting cabin. He didn't look back at her, just kept walking.

There were several large seats, and carpeting—real carpeting, not the industrial stuff on commercial planes. A small staff was there to greet them and Victor left her momentarily, ducking his head a bit as he moved toward the cockpit, leaving Birdy alone again.

"Would you care for a drink, Miss-?"

"Birdy. And yes, I would. What do you have?"

"Whatever you'd like," came the reply.

It was about noon and Birdy felt something alcoholic would calm her slightly jittery nerves. "Disaronno and Coke, light ice."

With a nod, the attendant walked off and Victor came back.

"We're about to take off. It's gonna be a long flight. You may as well get comfortable. There's a bed in the back. Bathroom, small kitchen."

He settled down in the seat next to her, closing his eyes and reclining back, propping his long legs up on the seat directly in front of him.

The plane taxied out of the hangar and onto the runway, and soon they were up in the air, breaking the clouds and cruising to God knew where.


	8. Chapter 8

**Sugar and Spice**

**Chapter 8**

His eyes were closed but he wasn't asleep. He didn't need that much rest anyway, but a light meditation was a pretty solid way of passing the time until the plane touched down. Plus, it gave his other senses time to focus on the woman sitting on right hand side.

She was a smart mouth with a pretty smile - even her scowl was sexy. He was starting to enjoy pissing her off just to see those lips of hers pout into a frown. Her big, blue eyes would narrow at him—out of anger and suspicion, and her whole body would tense. It reminded Victor of a coiled snake ready to spring.

When she laughed, and smiled, as she had today—that was nice too. He didn't recoil from her the way he'd done from other frails. This one wasn't trying to seduce him, although, to be frank, it was more the other way around. He'd been admiring the curves that tight sweater showed off. She was fully clothed but Victor found himself musing simply on what lay beneath those layers. He'd already seen it.

He inhaled deeply, letting the scent fill him up before exhaling.

"Mr. Creed, we're about to land in about 10 minutes."

He let out a low growl, then opened his eyes. Sometime during the flight, Birdy had fallen asleep in the chair next to him. He thought about messing with her just a bit, but, considering the job they were about to do, figured it might be better for him to give her a gentler nudge. After all, he'd hate to have to kill her if she got mad at him and turned on him during what was sure to be a firefight tonight.

"Wake up. We're landin'." He tapped her on the shoulder and got up, giving his body a long, lazy stretch.

Birdy's eyes opened just in time to watch him start moving, and she followed suit.

The plane came down, taxied to a hangar and pulled in.

"Where are we?"

"Geneva."

"Switzerland?"

"Yup."

"What time is it, Victor?" He looked at her, raising a finger to her lips, to silence her. His voice dropped an octave as he leaned in close to her neck. She could feel the hairs on his face tickle her skin and his warm breath on her ear.

"No names from now on. Get changed, grab your stuff. When we leave this plane, we're on business, got it?"

"Yeah, boss." Her own voice grew cold, and mentally, she began to focus. "Where are my bags?"

He pointed to the back and she went.

Slipping into the bedroom, she pulled out her duffle and began changing clothes, stripping down completely. Then, opening the bag, she pulled out her "tools".

After a moment, she re-emerged and walked back to where Victor was.

"Ready."

He gave one look at her, clad in an all-black body suit with an extremely large gun strapped to each thigh.

He didn't say anything but raised a brow at her. She leveled a steely gaze at him. "You're not the only person who likes big toys."

**.**

**.**

They exited the plane and she followed as Victor strode up to where a black motorcycle stood waiting. He threw one leg over and balanced himself, and Birdy hopped on back.

She wrapped her arms around his waist, leaning into his back as the bike roared to life, and soon they were racing out into the bitter, night air.

Her face was pressed against his jacket and they leaned together in synch around each curve and each bend. At one point, Victor increased speed down a hill, causing Birdy to cling to him tighter, feeling the firm muscles of his stomach and as his warmth reached her check through the back of his jacket.

The night's air was bitterly cold but crisp, and so close to Victor she could smell him—a vague combination of cinnamon and fresh pine—he smelled like outdoors, like clean mountain air, a wonderful blend, uniquely him.

The bike's engine was doing wicked things to her, the vibrations coupled with the feel of Victor under her hands was making her hot, and she was getting excited, growing more and more aroused with each passing mile and minute.

It was always this way before a job. She was ready for the action. She craved it, she wanted it, and she felt, that before the night was through, she'd get that, and more. She just didn't know what.

**.**

**.**

He was trying damn hard to keep his eyes on the road, but he could feel her pressed up against his back and as he rounded a curb he felt her hands slide down a little lower. At the sensation of her touch so close to his skin, Victor was momentarily distracted. He almost drove them straight off the cliff.


	9. Chapter 9

**Sugar and Spice**

**Chapter 9**

Her body was coursing with pent up energy, just begging to be let loose. _He_ was now focused on the hunt. Victor's blue eyes flashed as his pupils grew darker, larger dilating to take in more of the waning light as darkness settled in around them. The fangs began to grow longer, sharper. He flexed his fingers, extending the claws to their deadliest and most effective length.

Before Birdy's eyes he was…changing.

Not the first time, a flash of fear ran through her.

Victor didn't look at her, but grunted low as he focused in at a point inside the house that Birdy couldn't see. She reached out to him mentally and discovered the barrier she'd felt before was lowered. Understanding what he wanted, she too crouched down low in the bushes, her hands going to the handles on her guns. After a beat, and a pause, they both jumped out from their cover and Victor took the lead as he slashed out at the wrought iron gate— slicing through it like butter. Alarms began to sound all around him but he kept going now—running on all fours with Birdy covering him and shooting at every moving target with the practiced ease of and perfect aim of a sharp shooter.

There were screams as men and women ducked and ran out of the way of flying bullets and shattered glass. The men who, just a moment ago, had been acting as common-place valet's had now brandished guns and were firing back.

The bullets bounced off Victor like water on a raincoat, and Birdy was hot-on-his heels, keeping the men outside busy with a firestorm of bullets from her modified, military-grade fully automatic XM-25 machine guns.

They had gained entry to the house and Victor launched his massive frame up the stairs, leaving Birdy to hold court at the door, with a now greatly- diminished force firing at her.

A bullet came whizzing by her head and she ducked back inside the door. It ricocheted off the molding blasting a gaping hole above her head and sending shards of wood flying around her.

Birdy dropped lower to the ground and pulling her limbs tight against her body, waiting. She was thankful her guns came with scopes and, expertly flipped the gun so that a small, wire scope popped up.

She held the gun above her head, paralleling it to the hole in the wall, and angling it so that she could see outside with the scope.

There, behind the flattened wheels of a bullet-ridden Mercedes, was a man on the ground, still moving.

Somehow, she'd missed him and he'd gotten a bullet off at her, but she'd make sure this time he was dead. She could already tell he was injured, but he was scouting for her, she could tell by the way he aimed his gun, peering through the scope that was mounted on top of it.

Birdy smiled to herself as she lowered her gun, giving it an affectionate rub on the barrel. One of the great things about her modified "toy"…she could shoot around corners.

Bracing her back against the wall, she looked around her, scanning the carnage of splintered wood and broken glass. Ah, there!

Right across was the object she needed. Still moving quietly, Birdy reached out and grabbed the glinting piece of broken glass off the floor. She threw it in the direction of the open door way and, sure enough, her mark took the bait and fired.

As soon as she saw the glass shatter, Birdy propelled herself forward, tucked and rolled, popped up on the other side of the door, hit the re-line switch on her gun and fired off 12 rounds in succession.

She heard e scream and a thump as the bullets found their target and just as quickly as the roar of fire rose up, all fell silent. Birdy rose triumphantly to peek out the door and survey the damage.

The front lawn looked like a war zone, with shot-up cars and dead bodies strewn about. The elaborate, ceramic clay fountain that had stood on the lawn was shattered- with only a whit numb sticking out of the ground, and the water in the fountain stained red.

Bodies lay scattered about the drive.

Satisfied with her role in the job, she quickly turned and ran up the stairs in the direction her boss had gone. But just as she hit the top floor of the landing, she heard an inhuman roar followed by a strange gurgling sound that made her heart drop and her blood freeze. Birdy stopped mid-step.

**.**

**.**

Victor was raging out of control now. The beast that had been clamoring to break free had full control and the world around him was stained as red as the blood on his hands. But he didn't stop.

The flesh tore from his victim as Victor continued to slash—long, digging strokes that cut deeper and deeper into what remained of the soft body before him.

He smiled as he watched the life slowly drain from the man's eyes.

His animal was in a state of bliss.

He laughed as screams grew fainter, the struggles grew weaker and the smell of death permeated the room. He was so caught in the rapture of the carnage, he didn't hear the door slowly opened.

And as his victim gurgled his last breath in a throat full of blood, only the silent whisper of his name caused him to pause in his mutilation.

**.**

**.**

For the first time in her life, Birdy didn't know what to. For the first time in her life, she was terrified. Not of getting caught—that was not an option, but as she looked at Victor's hulking figure, covered in blood and gore, and smiling as he ripped yet more flesh from the body tied to a chair in front of him, she was smart enough to fear for her own life at that moment.

She choked back a sob and quickly wrapped her hands around her mouth, but it was too late. He'd heard her.

He turned to face her, snarling, his eyes dark and wild as he looked at her, and she could see he was trying to decide whether she was a friend or a foe.

"Victor…" her voice trembled his name as he walked toward her, claws fully extended. Slowly Birdy began backing away.

"Victor…we have to go…" her voice was soft as she worked to steady herself mentally.

It felt like a dream turned into a horrible nightmare, and she was floundering…stuck in an alternative state she couldn't break free of. Down the steps, one, by one, she walked slowly, keeping her distance from Victor, but guiding him out of the house and back outside.

"Victor…I need you…"

She knew not to turn her back on him but they were trapped now.

It was clear to her that he was debating what to do with her, and she knew at any moment the wail of sirens would come. They had to leave, but she couldn't leave him there in the state he was in. She had to to do something.

They had just entered the bushes at the back of the property where they had come in only minutes (it seemed like hours to her now) ago. She and Victor were at a standstill. She'd gotten him out, but she knew it wouldn't be long before he attacked her. She had no idea what was staying his hand, but the rise and fall of his chest, and the glazed eyes focused on her kept her aware of the danger. A low rumble hit her ears as her eyes widened at the realization that the sound was a warning.

She barely had time to jump out of his way as he lunged for her. He missed a direct hit to her face, but his arms caught her around the ankles and she fell, twisting to grab onto his neck and pulling him down to the ground with her. They rolled and fought but Victor quickly gained the upper hand. He flipped her on her back and wrapped a large hand around her neck and began squeezing.

They'd been here before.

She looked up into empty black eyes and her heart sank. She gasped for air as he leaned in close to her, so close she could feel the heat from his body on her skin. She couldn't think about what that heat had meant to her only minutes ago. Right now, she was fighting for her life.

Birdy stopped struggling.

Her entire body went limp.

Her pulse began to slow in his grip.

And just when he thought she was dead...Two small hands shot up from the ground grabbing either side of his face and he roared with pain as the world around him turned from a scarlet red, to a brilliant, bright white.

**.**

**.**

The pieces of his sanity quickly snapped back in place and Victor shook his head, and took a look around. He was in the woods, his coat, and hands stained with blood, remnants speckled around his face and none of it was his.

Finally, he looked down and felt the world quake. His heart beat faster and his hands trembled.

Birdy.

She was blue, large, red welts from where his hand had been were growing darker on her neck and for the first time he could remember, he panicked.

He fell to the ground beside her, "Birdy…Birdy wake up…" he whispered, more to himself than to her as he checked for a pulse and, feeling a faint thrum under his fingers, gathered her in his arms and quickly began moving to the place he'd left the bike. He secured her to the back and quickly cranked it up as he drove off into the night like a desperate man.

As he rode in one direction, red, white and blue lights accompanied by the sound of sirens rose in the place where he'd come.

He'd fucked up. He'd lost control. He needed help.


	10. Chapter 10

**Sugar and Spice**

**Chapter 10**

Birdy awoke slightly disoriented. Her head throbbed, and when she tried to open her eyes, the room spun.

She let out a soft groan and tried to swallow, but her throat hurt. As she sought to regain a bit of equilibrium, the events of the day came back to her.

Breakfast in Vancouver, the awkward, but peaceful drive to the airport, the plane ride…the feel of her body pressed against his...the sensation of touching him...the ride…the adrenaline of confrontation, the excitement of firefight. Then Horror. All that blood, the rage. The fear.

And finally, despair. Those hands, strong hands, wise hands...deadly hands, wrapped around her neck. Desperation... the sheer stubbornness of survival.

When she opened her eyes, the cabin had stopped spinning. She sat up, looking around. The lights were dim, the round, porthole windows were drawn, and it was almost dark, and quiet, save for the thrum of the plane's engine. They were back in the air.

How long she'd been out, she didn't know. Victor must have brought her back to the plane. Birdy sat up and drew her legs to her chest, wrapping her arms around her knees. She was alone. But her mind was having a hard time reconciling the raving, blood-soaked beast, with the dark, brooding man who had hired her. Try as she might, she couldn't block out the images.

When they'd come in contact, when her hands had reached his face—she'd felt nothing but pure hate. Wild and unrelenting, it had enveloped her, swallowed her…images of violence, of war, of death, of destruction and above it all- satisfaction, as pure and powerful as innocence can be, before corrupted. It had come into her mind, every good and decent feeling fleeing, falling victim to an endless parade of evils.

She had seen him—the real him, and she wanted to run for her life.

What had she gotten herself into? She had gone from fighting him when he'd attacked her in the club, to cooking him breakfast the next morning. He was dynamic. A force, and she'd been pulled in to that force. She felt disgust with herself at being so blind, so naïve, so…gullible.\

_You knew better…_

Yes. But something about him had drawn her in, had made her accept the "job"; that something had made her say yes. Her rational mind tried to justify the illogical.

She killed people for a living. That was true. But it was a _job_, and she considered it as such. But him…the look of pleasure on his face, the gore of the room…the body, what was left of it…opened and shredded…

Birdy's stomach roiled and instantly she was up, dashing out of the door of the cabin and into the bathroom, the door slamming behind her as she regurgitated yellow bile into the sink. There was nothing on her stomach to bring up. And after that was over…there were just dry heaves that caused her to lurch violently.

She leaned down, on her forearms, breathing deeply. _I can't do this. I can't do this._ Every muscle pushed her to get out. She wanted to run. To hide. She could only hope he'd let her go, peacefully. But a different park, a darker part...the part that screamed for her attention, was showing her a chained door.

.

.

Victor sat toward the front of the plane, laid back in one of the plush, ivory leather chairs. All the window blinds were drawn and the lights turned off. The cabin was in complete darkness, save for the dim glow of the emergency lights. A red flare grew brighter, followed by the smell of tobacco, then dimmed again as he exhaled into the air.

He'd seen the door open at the end of the hall, watched her dash out followed by the muted sound of retching.

The rage was on low simmer, allowing his dormant conscience to rise up and accost him.

Listening to her ragged breathing, and soft whimpers, Victor felt…guilty. He could only image what was going on in her mind. He didn't know how to approach her. If it had been any other female there would be no talking. No convincing. It would just be. By HIS word, and nothing else. But he found he didn't want that for her.

The door to the bathroom opened and through the darkness, he could see her form clearly. She hadn't changed from her field clothes.

"Birdy. C'mere." He called out into the darkness, his voice sounding cold and hard, raspy, even to his own ears.

He saw her pause at the door and hesitate. He waited to see what she'd do. Her chest heaved as she seemed to steady herself, and then she turned and began walking toward the sound of his voice.

"It's dark, Victor. I can't see," she whispered, stopping midway down the isle.

He moved a finger on the control panel on his seat and the lights around the cabin rose gradually.

"Better?" He was trying to keep his own voice light, and non-threatening, doing his best to put her at ease. Hell, he didn't even quite know what to say to her, but the way she was watching him, those big eyes of hers wary, he could tell she was on her guard.

The cigar was nearing its death and he extinguished it in the ashtray sitting on the small table on the side of his chair. Birdy sat in the one diagonal to him, her body as far away as she could get.

_Smart bird, _he thought grimly.

They looked at each other. He studied her body language as she sat rigidly, looking like she wanted to bolt. He couldn't blame her. When faced with wild animals, ones first reaction was to run. Fight or flight. And he could see she wanted to flee. Seeing how uncomfortable she was, he relaxed more, trying to put her at ease. When that didn't work, he flipped his hands around, palms up, and sat up, leaning toward her and speaking directly.

"That shit you saw back there? That's what I need you to control. I'm not gonna hurt you…"

"You already did." Her voice was low, but steady and she met his eyes evenly. The sudden calmness had an effect. It made him watch her now, more intently and consider his words before replying.

"Everybody has their demons. Mine's just a bit more…obvious."

She seemed to be watching him and thinking at the same time. Finally, she stood up. "You said six hours? What if I choose to leave?"

He gritted his teeth at a sudden pang hit his chest and quickly bit back a growl.

_I should just lock her ass up in the house. Then she can't leave. _He closed his eyes and instantly his mind was barraged by images of her in her long, sweater and tights, curled up in the seat of the plane, the way she studied him in the car, the way her arms felt wrapped around his waist…the feel of her hands easing their way down…

He swore mentally, shaking his head as if to shake off the images that had come to him so sharply.

"If you leave... Don't let me see you."

She nodded, then rose and retreated to the back of the plane and into the bedroom.

He watched her, and, when the door closed, leaned his head back against the chair, and reached for another cigar. He was still feeling her "glow" but he could also feel the turmoil building underneath.

**.**

**.**

It was still dark outside when the plane touched down. After waiting a few minutes, he rose from his chair, and made a sweep of the plane. He paused outside the door leading to the cabin.

Would she be there? Would she be gone?

He pushed the door, not surprised, but disappointed when it opened with little effort. The room was empty.

Victor resisted the urge to yell. Instead he leaning his body against the walls folded his arms and inhaled. He could still smell her.

Well, he'd had to expect that. He'd given her a choice and she'd it.

He was beyond disappointed…a part of him was genuinely…hurt. He'd wanted her to stay. He'd needed her to stay. That he both needed and wanted her only infuriated him the more. _She_ had done this. Who did she think she was? He'd paid her. She had a job. She WORKED for him. She couldn't just walk away! She _owed_ him…HE owned her...

_For what?_ The other voice was chiming in now. _you'll bring her down with you…_

The confession tempered the flood but did nothing to improve his mood. Victor was trying to force himself to accept her loss as he walked out of the cabin and down the isle toward the door. He stepped out of the plane and down the stairs into the airplane hanger, heading toward his waiting truck.

Damn. He could still smell her. He closed his eyes again and stopped a moment, trying to keep himself from tracking her.

His nerves were frayed, but as he opened his eyes again and resumed his path toward the waiting truck, her scent grew stronger, and stronger by the step. And he found himself walking just a bit faster. Finally, he reached the driver's side and opened the door.

Birdy turned to him, her face an inscrutable mask, but her voice clear as a bell.

"What took you so long?"

* * *

><p><strong>*Author's note:<strong> _I've done some tweaking on this chapter so if there are comma splices and unintentional sentence fragments, please forgive me. And I am happy to see so many people starting to review. Thank you all so much._


	11. Chapter 11

**Sugar and Spice**

**Chapter 11**

The ride back to the mansion was quiet, the hour late, and they were tired. The truck pulled back into the gates of the mansion and dipped down into the underground parking garage, before easing to a stop. Birdy climbed out, her body stiff from the long plane ride, the fighting and the road trip.

She went to reach for her duffle bags in the back but was surprised when she turned around.

Victor was standing behind her, her bags in his hand.

He didn't say anything as he handed them to her, just turned and began walking toward the door to the house. She followed. They stepped in, walked together through the kitchen, into the living room and up the wide, winding steps to the top floor.

They parted at the hallway. Victor turning left, Birdy turning right.

She entered her room and made sure to lock her door behind her. Dropping the bags at the entrance, she began walking to the bed slowly, her clothes falling to the door in the wake of her feet. She was asleep as soon as her body hit the bed.

Down the hallway, in his own bedroom suite, Victor followed suit.

The black, steel doors swooshed close behind him followed by the mechanical whirr of the lock. He pulled off the stained coat, kicked off his shoes, removed the black t-shirt and stripped off his pants, each garment trailing a path from his bedroom door to his bathroom. He walked in and stepped inside the wide shower, turning the water to as hot as it would go and letting the droplets pelt his skin.

The tense muscles of his shoulders began to relax as the room filled with steam, the vapor opening his pores and letting his skin breathe as the filth from the last two days ran off him and down the drain.

He leaned forward, resting one large arm on the wall in front of him resting his head on the tiled surface as the water beat a steady rhythm down his head, across his shoulders, and flowed down his back, following the curve of muscle and bone as it dripped down to his feet.

After a moment of pause, he reached for a towel and began t washed his body slowly, methodically, repeatedly until the water was cold. Finally, he stepped out of the shower, toweled off, and followed the familiar pathway to the large, bed in the center of his room.

He didn't bother to roll back the covers, just collapsed on top of them—the sleep that had been so elusive coming quickly to his aid.

**.**

**.**

It was late when Birdy woke the next morning, the sunlight filtering through the window sheers shining in her eyes. She yawned and stretched, then flinched—her muscles screamed in protest, an unpleasant reminder of the last three days of her life.

Before today, she'd been living what she THOUGHT was the highlife. Big cities, expensive hotels, the thrill of the chase, the relish of conquest—

Victor shattered all of that. And Birdy realized she didn't know shit compared to him.

She couldn't say she wasn't slightly afraid. But she'd been through the wringer—and honestly…she was quite calm now about her situation. It was, what it was.

Birdy rolled on her back, looked up at the ceiling, and sighed. As far as she was concerned, whatever this…arrangement… was with Victor, would be an equal opportunity lender.

**.**

As soon as she left her room she caught a whiff of something delicious…bacon. And as she walked down the stairs, now clad in a nightgown, other sensations came to her. The tantalizing sizzle, the increasing warmth, the clang of pots and pans…She rounded the corner and stopped, her eyes wide.

Victor was in the middle of the kitchen, the thin, gray sweatpants hanging low on his hips. He was presently flipping eggs in a skillet with one hand while the other was minding the bacon.

He heard her enter, but didn't turn around. "Get plates." Still surprised at the domestic scene, Birdy nodded and went to the cabinet.

A few minutes later, they were seated across from each other in the large, formal dining room. She was devouring her meal, while Victor systematically worked through his, not spilling anything, and ensuring that afterward, the plate was perfectly clean.

Satisfied with her own meal, and full, Birdy leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes.

A soft burp escaped. She covered her mouth, slightly chagrined and when she looked up at Victor, the corner of his lip was turned up, and he was watching her.

"I take that as a compliment to my skills."

She smiled slightly back at him. "I didn't know you cooked."

"There's a lot you don't know," he sat back in his chair crossed his arms and looked at her. Birdy tugged the hem on her nightgown down a little more to cover her bare thighs.

He raised an eyebrow at her and rising from his seat, walked around the table to stand behind her chair.

She felt his breath on the back of her neck as his lips brushed against her skin.

"I'm not gonna hurt you, Bird. I need you too much for that."

He moved away leaving her seated alone at the table. Her skin tingled where his lips had been and she squeezed her thighs tight for a while before getting up to go to her room.

.

A few hours later found Birdy in the pool, floating in the cool water on her back, eyes closed and contemplating the puzzle that was Victor Creed. The sun felt so good on her face. It was an unseasonably warm day outside, and for the time being, there was nothing for her to do. Victor hadn't given her any tasks, and she hadn't seen him since he'd left the breakfast table. She supposed he'd holler if he needed her.

Slim, manicured fingers skipped along the surface as she stirred the water in lazy circles and wiggling her toes.

This was nice. Peaceful… therapeutic…

_Splash!_

Birdy opened her mouth in a scream and immediately went under, sucking water in through her nose and mouth. She splashed frantically, pulling her body back up to the surface and came up choking and sputtering, the water making her eyes and lungs burn.

Large arms wrapped around her from the back and as she evacuated water, she was pulled out of the pool and sat on the side. Catching her breath was difficult, but, after taking some final deep breaths, and recovering from her choking fit, she glared at her rescuer and was shocked to find him laughing!

Victor's laugh was raspy and deep, and came out sort of like a bark, as if it hadn't been used in a while.

"You look like a drowned rat," He smirked at her expression. Birdy's face had turned a bright red from the coughing fit that she'd only just recovered from and that, coupled with the heated feeling of being caught off guard had contributed to her slightly lobster-like condition.

Incensed, Birdy lunged off the side of the pool, wrapping her arms around Victor's neck and dumping them together into the pool.

She could tell he hadn't anticipated that maneuver, and now that the tables were turned and Victor was sputtering pool water, she used the opportunity to swim down to the deeper end of the pool and out of his grasp.

Her mistake was turning her back.

As soon as she took off and got about three strokes in, a firm hand wrapped around her ankle, pulling her under.

"Eeep!"

She flipped around in the water, and looked at Victor, about three feet from her. He was smirking again, with one eyebrow raised. He was playing with her.

_Well, two can play this game, _Birdy thought to herself, and turning on her most impish grin, she shot a steaming look at Victor, before slipping back under the water and swimming away again, inviting him to follow.

With a kick and a splash of the water, Victor took her up on her offer. Minutes later, she was laughing aloud at his sneak attacks and antics, and he was chuckling at her ability to slip out of his grasp.


	12. Chapter 12

**Sugar and Spice  
><strong>

**Chapter 12**

Birdy was curled up on Victor's couch in her bikini, a large T-shirt serving as a cover-up, her hair still wet and framing her face. The TV was on, but turned low as he lounged on the other side, his feet up, watching the screen intently. Monty Python, of all things: "The Dead Parrot Sketch."

A stifled yawn earned her a side glance, and he reached down to the remote, turning the screen off. She turned to him, surprised. "Why'd you stop the movie?"

Damn. She was given him the eyes again, but he had other things he wanted to know.

"C'mere, Bird." He said quietly, beckoning her with a finger. Her eyes widened but she slipped closer to him on the couch.

"Closer," he instructed and she scooted over until she was right next to him, her bare legs brushing against his.

With a swift move he pulled her from her place on the couch until she was straddled on his lap. Her breasts pressed against his chest, her face only inches from his.

"Yes, boss?" She whispered. He felt the warm tickle of her breath on his nose, the peppermints she'd been chewing on earlier still fresh. He watched her lips form the words.

"How does it work?"

"How does what work, Mr. Creed?"

"You. Yer glow. I want to know how it works."

This time she looked down at her hands before staring into his eyes.

"Do you trust me?"

"I don't trust anyone."

Birdy didn't respond. Instead, she closed her eyes and began to breathe deeply. Two small hands rose to the side of his face, and he stiffened at the touch. She opened her eyes and looked at him.

"You want to know how it works…I can't tell you, I have to show you." She said, calmly.

His grip on her thighs tightened, as one hand slipped under her down to cup her ass. She tensed and tried to push off but he held her tighter, bringing her close and making sure she could feel _him_ between her legs. Looking directly into her eyes, he breathed the words against her lips.

"Do it."

.

.

_He braced himself for the sudden sting of needles, the explosion in his mind, and was surprised when none came. Instead, he felt himself being caught up in a warm rush of air, floating in a sea of red—red, red…everything various shades of the color, from hills continually moving, albeit slowly, to the lazy sway of a river, to clouds taking their time floating by…the world in slow motion._

_He felt…calm._

_A small hand perched itself on his shoulder and he watched himself turning around. Birdy. She was standing beside him, looking out across the expanse, then back at him._

"_Where are we?"_

"_Inside your mind. It's hot in here, by the way."_

_He chuckled, reaching an arm out to grab her waist, pulling her close to his body before pressing his lips to hers. She tensed first, then relaxed and deepened the kiss as his hands began to trace the outlines of her body. _

_Everything around them began to swirl slowly, then faster and faster still, glowing brighter and brighter until a white light appeared. But he was oblivious to it all—focused only on feel of her skin next to his, the peppermint still on her tongue, and his own desires…_

_._

_._

He came out the trance staring at Birdy, her eyes still closed, her lips open in a sigh, his hands under her shirt.

"Victor…" she breathed his name and he knew it was no dream. Not needing any more persuasion, he lifted her into his arms by her hips, letting her legs wrap around his waist, and rose to carry her to his room.

.

.

She couldn't help it. Victor's thrusts forced the moans from her lips, each push, expanding, widening, making her whimper, and writhe under him. She gripped his shoulders, holding on as he moved on top of her, his chest brushing against her erect nipples causing spasms of pleasure to course through her.

God…

The room echoed with the sounds of their pleasure, the call-and-response of lovers—Victor's muted chuffs and grunts, steadily increasing with the force of his motion—Birdy's sighs and hisses when he pushed too deep—her body taking him…working him…

Squeezing, pushing, pulling…

When she came, she saw stars.

He was still in her mind. She was still in his.

Somewhere, far away there was a howl and the world exploded into a bright, silver-lined white.

Wherever she was was…the stars were spinning faster…

And somehow…she knew he saw them too.

As the world began to right itself…the white began to dim…darker and darker, until she was melting inside a warm, velvety black…no, not black-a deep, dark, saturated red…

It surrounded her like a cocoon.

It was warm.

It soothed her…

The last thing she felt before fading out completely, was a sense of utter and complete contentment and peace.

.

Inside Victor's room, in his bed, two bodies lay, the larger curled around the smaller, both naked, and still.

.

Birdy's eyes flitted open sometime during the night. She didn't know the time. Not that it would have mattered if she did.

She was pressed into Victor's chest, his arms holding her securely.

She wiggled a bit only to feel him grip her tighter, then release as he rolled over onto his back. His eyes were closed, his breathing deep and even.

The soft light beamed through the open window, , and she could see him in the darkness clearly.

Birdy propped her head up on her raised arm, and for the first time, followed the outlines of smooth, hard muscle and dark hair on Victor's chest. He was sleeping, and she didn't want to disturb him. But as she contemplated him in that moment, her thoughts began to wander as she took in the outline of his form.

If she could lay a map of the world across his chest, she was sure it would look like scorched Earth. It would be riddled with jagged crags like the Grand Canyon—bearing the scars of decades of punishment both self-inflected and ….

His arms were like the gnarled and knotted branches of ancient trees, left to the ravages of time. Each bend and break a sign of a tear never quite healed.

His legs, the ruined pillars of Athens—the sad and broken remnants of once powerful symbols.

Yet she knew, with certainty now, that the invisible scars that lay beneath were born of an eternity worth of wounds, each with its own tale, a story—a wrinkle and reminder of times past.

But when she looked at his sleeping form, she saw perfection.

It was in the rise and fall of his chest, seemingly sculpted and chiseled—the artist intensely aware of every stroke, every chip, like Michelangelo considering his David.

His hands rested by his side, the claws thicker, longer and blacker than obsidian, sharper than the tamahagane sword, and more beautiful than carved onyx.

And it was in that moment that Victor stirred, his eyes opening, their black depths boring into hers. One arm snaked out and pulled her back down to the sheets and close to his side.

Birdy let out a soft sigh, then a yawn as she burrowed closer into his warmth, sleep once again claiming her. There was beauty within the beast. And for better for worse, she was his now. There was no going back.

.

.

It was extreme, even for a man who redefined the word. For Victor, going from one extreme to the next was the norm. He'd found her, caught her, taken her and scared the shit out of her and fucked her all in one week. And while he was impatient in certain areas…he wasn't stupid. And so, when the light coming through his bedroom window hit his eyes, he was up, slipping noiselessly from the bed to avoid waking her.

He watched her stir from the loss of his body heat, letting his eyes roam her nude body, making note of the scratches in her skin from where he'd gripped her during sex.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

He had to regain control of this. He couldn't let her think he was weak.

Not even bothering to dress, he slipped out of the room, down the stairs, and out of the back door. He took two long strides, and in the third, fell with an easy grace to all fours before taking off in a run into the woods on his property until he reached his destination.

A large, wide great oak with thick limbs loomed before him in the middle of a thicket. Truth be told, he'd bought the property specifically for the tree. He'd first come across this plot of land more than 100 years ago when he was still "young". The lands were undeveloped and Vancouver was still a railroad outpost. He'd been living on his own, hunting and fishing in a small cabin to the west.

He'd gotten caught in a monstrous blizzard while hunting and had gotten turned around in the white out.

The tree had been the only shelter he could find—two of its great limbs hung down to the ground, crossing over each other and creating a natural canopy where he could shelter himself.

He'd returned to that spot frequently in the years since…and when civilization had slowly crept closer to his place, and he'd had to flee the states, he'd made the decision to simply buy the land and build a house—with the intent to protect the tree that had protected him.

Victor's large frame settled into a large limb high in the tree, giving him a clear view of his property.

He laid his head back against the hard wood, and draped one hand over his knee, exhaling.

That damned telapath... fuckin' with his head. That's what this was. It would pass.

Victor Creed was no pussy. He fucked it. Occasionally he ate it. But he'd be damned before he let it control him.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>_ Thank you for everyone who has been reading. My work life is incredibly frantic right now and I can't guarantee when I'll be updating this story. I am going to aim for at least once a month. If you would like to know when this work gets a new chapter, I strongly suggest you add it to your alerts. Thank you all for reading, and for reviewing. I appreciate them all. I have also decided to rework many of the chapters that I've yet to post and any feedback is appreciated._


	13. Chapter 13

**Sugar and Spice**

**Chapter 13**

She woke with a gasp, chilled to the bone and shivering. There was an overwhelming sense of fear and dread that she couldn't shake, from a dream she couldn't remember.

The place next to her was empty. The sheets rumpled.

She lay back down, draping an arm across her eyes, her breathing evening out. After a moment she rose again, and wrapped the sheet around herself to go looking for Victor. A quick tour of the mansion turned up nothing and she walked outside in the chill of the early morning air, just in time to see him emerging from the woods.

The sight was something she knew would stay with her forever, coloring her perception of him and implanting itself in her mind.

He loped up the path to the house, moving at first, on all fours, like the slink of a large jungle cat, then gradually to a slightly stooped gait, until finally, he was back to his own two feet. But what caught her attention was not the physical bearing of his body, but in the way it moved. Each step was a natural extent of him, a glimpse into his character and the duality that kept presenting itself again and again.

He walked up the back porch naked, and not looking the least bit concerned about it.

"Victor-" He just looked at her as he brushed past and up the stairs.

"Get dressed, frail. We got jobs ta do."

Birdy felt cold standing in the open doorway, but it had nothing to do with the weather. She didn't need her telepathy to understand. Those eight words hit her harder and more painfully than if he'd slapped her. _Suck it up, woman. You knew what you're being paid for._

"Yes, boss."

The voice from her mouth didn't sound like hers. And later on, she wouldn't be able to remember her feet carrying her back up the stairs. Or, raising her face to the shower, letting the water fall on her face to wipe away the other drops falling from her eyes.

Eventually the burning behind her eyes melted away. The ache in her chest grew duller.

Business was business.

**.**

**.**

The ride to the airport was quiet, too quiet. It wasn't like the last time. She wasn't casting any side glances his way. Those pouty lips of hers were set in a thin line, no hint of the smile that frequently played on his lips. She sat as far away from him in the cab of the truck as she could, staring out the window.

"Snap out of it, _frail_."

He knew he'd hit a nerve immediately when Birdy cut her eyes at him. In the next instant he felt a snap in his brain and was slamming on the brakes, the truck swerving erratically across the road while he used one hand to steer and the other to silence the machine gun going off in his skull.

As soon as the truck hit the shoulder Birdy jumped out and started running.

Victor stumbled out the driver's side door, swaying on his feet. Gradually, the pain in his head subsided and he looked up to see Birdy half-way down the highway.

With a grunt he launched himself forward on all fours, the pain in his head giving way to his instinct to hunt—to chase down.

Birdy looked back and caught sight of him gaining fast. She pushed her legs faster, but Victor was larger and faster. She was reaching the bend in the road when she felt the force hit her from the back and she lurched forward, inadvertently letting out a scream that was smothered as he tackled her from the back, wrapping one arm around her waist, the other around her mouth.

The hit knocked them sideways, and Victor took the brunt of the fall, with Birdy wrapped in his arms as they rolled of the dusty, gravel-filled shoulder and into the wooded-brush off to the side of the highway. They had disappeared completely before another car appeared, driving off past them into the distance without a second glance backward.

She struggled in his grip trying hard to break free, but he'd locked his arms around her and wasn't letting go. Instead, he pulled them both up and pushed her forward into a tree, placing his body in back of her to effectively pin her so that she couldn't move.

"Dumb move, Bird…" he whispered, his beard scratching against the back of her neck as the warmth of his breath reached her ear. She squirmed, trying to get out of his grip, but it was no use.

"Now, tell me why you ran.." his voice had deepened into a deep rumble that she felt, more than heard.

"Get off me."

"Not what you said last _night_…" The rumble had turned into a not-quite purr that carried a warning beneath it. He didn't move.

"Bastard." She whispered. In an instant he whirled her around to face him and slammed her so hard into the tree that she hit her head. His eyes had darkened into pools of black. His voice was hard.

"Now, listen here, _frail_…" he sneered. You work for ME. You do what _I _tell you to do. And if you try to run again, I WILL kill you, and I can guarantee NO ONE will find you, and NO ONE will give a shit. You pull that firecracker stunt again and I'll cut your goddamn hands off. You won't have feet to run. You. Are. MINE."

She had never felt so terrified in her life. Birdy's eyes were wide as she stared at him, struck mute at the feel of him…all that suppressed rage…she could _feel_ his anger and knew that he would and could make good on his word.

'Do you understand me?" She held his gaze a minute longer, out of…what she didn't know? Her own anger? The sense of betrayal? Defiance? It was like challenging a predator and that was something Birdy knew better than to do. The full reality of her situation came crashing down around her, destroying the last shards of joy that she'd dared to feel—the hope-against-hope that had remained…the benefit of the doubt that still lingered.

Birdy dropped her eyes and nodded quietly.

Pacified, Victor moved back and she fell to her knees on the ground. He grabbed her by the elbow and yanked her up and started walking back in the direction of the drug, dragging her behind him.

Once they were driving again, this time in silence, she made the mistake of whispering her heart aloud.

"I'm not your whore."

His ears picked it up.

"You are whatever I want, and need you to be." He chuckled to himself… "'sides, you know you liked it."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: This story is coming along slowly, but surely. Thank you all for taking the time to follow it. I'm working through a difficult section here, but, for reference, we are pretty much at the halfway point.<br>**


	14. Chapter 14

**Sugar and Spice**

**Chapter 14**

Hours after the plane touched down, Birdy was finally alone in the penthouse of the hotel where they were staying. All around her was white and glass and steel. They'd checked in using false names, and, for the price that was paid for the suite, no one asked questions. Victor had left immediately after dropping his bags in his room, saying only that he'd "be back". She hadn't spoken a word to him since their fight earlier, and even as the door closed behind him, her silence was her only reply.

After waiting a few hours, with no sign of his return, she called room service, ordered a bottle of wine, and retreated to her room to sleep. Hours later, she was awakened at the sound of Victor's key in the lock.

"Get ready quick Bird," he said, not looking up. We're going early."

.

.

Eventually, she would look back on this mission and wonder when it went from simple, to shit. They were both running, Victor out in front - half-dragging her, the sounds of gunfire and the all-too-close impact of bullets wizzing past their feet.

It was cold and dark, trees everywhere and the only light was the moon. As they ran in the forest,the underbrush rose and stretched its arms to block them, roots sprang up everywhere, trying to trip them, and all the while they were being tailed by some VERY pissed off mercenaries.

The assignment was to steal a computer file, and while it had been simple getting in, getting out proved much more difficult. Apparently, the security information on the building they'd just robbed hadn't been up-to-date and they'd tripped a wire, sending an entire army on their asses. Even with her targeting abilities and Victor's strength, agility and claws, the mission went to hell.

She was panting hard as they pushed forward through the brush and found themselves climbing uphill. Suddenly, a bullet went zipping past her head and hit Victor in the back. He fell, pulling her down with him.

"Boss!"

"Go. I'll take of it. I'll catch up with you." The shouts and shots were getting closer.

She tried to pull him up but failed. With a growl, he swiped his claws out at her, just grazing her arm. "Go!"

She took off, into the night, the sounds of a series of shots piercing the night air. She heard the roar in her ears, and even more shots go off, followed by screams.

Finally, after pushing her legs, she was nearing and the brush grew less dense. Even in the darkness she could see what looked like vast emptiness…a field, she thought and ran just a bit faster.

And she kept running, until…

It was too late. And what she thought was a field, wasn't. She tried to stop herself but the forward momentum kept her going. She stumbled, tripped and rolled, grasping at any and everything she could get her hands on to keep from going over the cliff.

She was hanging onto the ledge with her fingers, her feet dangling into the air. Terror filled her and her eyes began to water as she frantically kicked, trying to hoist her body back onto the ledge.

Everything had gone quiet. The gun fire had stopped.

Birdy struggled in vain, digging her fingers into the ground to try and get some leverage—her nails began snapping and she could feel the dirt building under the chipped beds.

It wasn't supposed to be this way. I'm not supposed to die this way. She pulled some more, her arms now finally on the surface. But just as she was to give a final heave to get her body back over the ledge, the soil began to move.

Frantically she clawed, trying to get a hold of firmer ground but it was slowly giving way and then, in a sudden shift—it parted, and Birdy felt herself falling back into the darkness below.

**.**

She woke up surrounded by white and her first thought was that she'd died. _It didn't hurt like I thought, _she mused as she opened, and quickly closed, her eyes.

A rustling sound at the foot of her bed caught her attention and her splendid vision of white was interrupted by something tall and dark.

"Vic?" she whispered.

The figure moved and he came into view.

"Yeah. You alright, frail?" He was peering down at her.

She moved to rise and her entire body flashed hot with pain. With a moan and a grimace, she sank back down into the sheets.

"It hurts. What happened? How'd I get back here…how did you, for that matter?"

He sat on the edge of the bed. "Yeah, about that…I got rid of the mercs and came up after you. I looked out the clearing couldn't see you but I could hear scratching noises an' the sound of whimperin'. As soon as I got to the ledge, you were goin' over, so I jumped out after you. You blacked out on the fall…a good thing too' cause the impact hurt like hell. We went down for a bit."

She looked at him a bit more carefully, this time. The words were direct and there wasn't any bravado attached.

His jacket was torn and dirty, black and red splotches all over it. His clothes were torn, so were hers for that matter but as her eyes traveled the length of him they stopped.

"Vic, you're leg…"

He looked down at the twisted, swollen limb still hanging at a strangely bent angle. "It'll heal. I got most of the bones back in place. That was the worst of it. Everythin'll be mostly good by mornin'."

"How long can we stay here? Is anyone after us?"

"We got time. The place we hit ain't registered on any maps—it exists but it doesn't. And I made sure not to leave anyone alive. So we got time. Plus, this is a good spot. I know the owner. Consider this as a personal favor. We can rest and then move on."

She looked at his face, still talking and felt that oh-so-familiar swell in her heart. _Don't get soft, don't get soft…_

He made a move to rise and even she could see it hurt him to do so—the leg was obviously in bad shape.

"Don't go." She was kicking herself even as she spoke the words. "The leg looks bad, and its' pointless for you to hobble across the hall. Just…stay."

He looked at her, his jaw clenched as if holding back something he wanted to say. She knew she looked terrible if he looked the way he did. Finally, he shrugged off his coat, dropping it to the floor. Instead of slipping in the bed beside her, he took up residence on the sofa that was next to it and propped the bad leg up on the edge of the bed.

Victor looked exhausted, something she didn't really think possible, and without another word, he leaned his head back and closed his eyes. She rolled over, the pain racing up the side. She'd just deal with the clean up later on. For now, she was tired.

.

.

He could see her clearly in the darkness, curled up, her legs pulled up to her chest, on the corner and wrapped in a sheet. She was sleeping deeply, her chest rising and falling in a slow rhythm.

The drapes covering the window in her room were slightly parted, letting moonlight slip through. It hit her hair, illuminating her form for him.

With a quiet sigh, he slipped a package from his pocket and set it on her nightstand. His hand hit the empty wine bottle and a glass, making a soft chinking sound. She moved in the bed, and he stopped—worried she may wake and see him. Instead, she simply rolled over on her side, her back to him.

What he wanted was to take his clothes off and lay next to her, pull her into his arms and let her sleep on him, like she'd done the night before. But he knew better than that.

So, instead, he left the room as quietly as he'd come, making sure to lock it back. He walked across the suite to his own room, and, settled in for a few hours of sleep.

**.**

**.**

She woke when the sunlight hit her eyes and rolled over. A slight headache was her reward for downing the wine. She'd have to remember to complain. For such an expensive hotel…cheap wine was unacceptable.

Next to the wine bottle were two, silver boxes. Curious, she sat up and reached for them. She gasped when she saw what was inside.

When? How?

The two rocks sparkled and shone at her from their cushioned home. She turned and opened the accompanying envelop.

_Birdy, _

_These are for you. Use them. _

_-Vic_

The platinum-colored piece plastic had her name on it. A very reputable card with a very reputable company.

She didn't know whether to be happy or mad, so she sat somewhere in between. Perplexed at the how's or why's it took her a minute to get her head around the extravagant gifts. Victor had obviously spent a lot of money, and he'd done it for her, considering that his own wardrobe was ….well, more dour. And access to the credit card? She didn't understand his purpose, and just as clearly, wondered whether the gift was exactly that…or a payment.

The anger rushed through her and like a bolt she was up, grabbing both the box and the card in one hand, the sheet held tight against her body with the other. Striding purposefully across the living room she banged on Victor's door and kept pounding away until he answered it.

"Explain." She demanded, arms folded across her chest.

He looked at her, eyes dark and his brows creased. Victor was still fully dressed but looked…rumpled. The bottom corner of his dark shirt was outside of his pants, his belt wasn't cinched. He looked like she'd caught him off guard.

"You can read, Bird."

She stared at him incredulously for a moment, and apparently not satisfied, she pushed the box at card at him. He didn't reach for them and instead, they fell to the floor.

"What are you trying to do, Victor?" She asked.

He was silent, and just stared at her. It was unnerving, those dark eyes fixed on her face. Slowly they began to travel the length of her and she was made aware that she was wearing nothing but a sheet. She clutched the fabric closer to her body.

"You're gorgeous when you're pissed." He said, the hint of a smile playing on his face.

This hot-and-cold thing was confusing and she just didn't understand how he could be so foul-tempered one minute, and completely neutral the next.

"Stop it. You aren't answering my question."

The smile faded fast.

"If you want me to say 'sorry,' I won't." He said. "So this is about as close as you're gonna get to anything that even reeks of the sort of thing you want me to say. Take it, or leave i.t" He turned his back on her and moved to shut the door.

"Vic…"

He turned around and looked at her. Quietly, she let the sheet drop.

"What do I look like?"

She knew she was black and blue, red and all other colors. But he simply looked at her.

"C'mere."

He swept her up in his arms, and carried her into his room, kicking the door closed behind them. He sat her on the bed and went to the bathroom. She heard water running and, after a minute he came back. Without a word he began to take his clothes off. She could see scars still dotted across his body, some were still healing but he looked far better than she did. And suddenly, she was very conscious of being naked.

He picked her up again and walked them into the bathroom, and ultimately, into the bath tub. She hissed and whimpered as he settled her between his legs, the water stinging the scrapes that scattered her body.

With a blush she realized that she had not bathed since before the mission, but Victor didn't seem to notice, or rather, he didn't say anything. Instead, he pulled her back, close to his chest and buried his face in her hair.

"Shhh." He whispered, nuzzling her, and despite herself, she leaned back into his touch as his hands traced the outlines of her body.

He could feel her shudder as he hit a painful spot, a bruise here, a scrape, a cut, elsewhere.

"I need you, Bird," he whispered in her ear as he held her. "I need the glow."

She was approaching the fuzzy place where things began to blend and so completely realized that she felt as if she were floating. His voice felt like the velvet in a dream…

She could feel him turning her body to face him, raising her up gently by the hips to perch on his lap and she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, laying her head on him as she rested and wafted in a semi-conscious haze.

"mm….yes, boss." She mumbled and raised a small hand to cup his cheek. She managed to summon up a bit of what he wanted, not powerful at all, but just a light bust of energy that worked its way from her fingertips, to him, flooding his senses in a way that made his mind start to tingle. And then, Victor was drifting off, his head tilted back…

"Mmmm Bird…" he drawled.

"You don't know what iss like for me…" He held her still as he faded, her head resting on his chest.

"Iss like fightin' an' makin' love…" He was slurring now as they both drifted off...

"…like killin' an' makin' babies…"

* * *

><p>*<strong>Author's note<strong>: Hopefully, I will have this story wrapped up by Chapter 20. Thanks for reading, and thanks for the reviews, I value each and every one.


	15. Chapter 15

_Birdy had never been religious. She didn't believe in God, and yet she called his name night after night...In Victor's bed that she saw the clouds and touched the sky—coming closer to a feeling of release she 'd never known._

_He knew how to ply her body—soft and supple in his hands…_

_He knew how to make her scream and shiver…cry and beg…in pleasure and in pain and they drowned in each other—sex, the guise for a multitude of sins and words left unsaid._

_The bedroom was their sanctuary. The place of a silent truce—of peace made…of promises kept only later to be broken. And if the bedroom was their sanctuary then the bed was their alter... _

_And everywhere else was hell._

**Sugar and Spice**

**Chapter 15**

**Two Years Later**

Victor stalked his prey in a slow circle, taking deliberate, calculating steps, his feet light as to be soundless on the floor.

The factory was old, and abandoned, located 50 miles from the nearest town. North Africa's rough, dry, desert terrain was about as unwelcoming as unwelcoming could get and therefore provided Victor with the perfect location to do his worst, without having to concern himself with inconvenient interruptions. And right now, he wanted to take his slow, sweet, precious time.

The blood dripped from his fingers, as he circled round, and round his prey, the smell of fear, of piss and shit invading his nostrils as the object of his attentions sat trembling, bound to the rickety, wooden chair in the middle of the vast concrete space.

"Hello? Hello? Please…please, man, don't kill me…" The plea came out as a high, whimpering cry as the man trembled in the chair.

Victor didn't respond.

"I—I know you're there, I –, look…. I can pay you! I can give you whatever you want!"

He stopped mid step, and crouched down, the blood-stained claws and hands splaying themselves against the cold floor, his pale his growing increasingly darker, the pupils, wider.

He could feel the first tinges of the rush…the blood roaring through his veins, the scream for release…the tingle of anticipation…like an orgasm building…waiting for its release.

"You know who I am." The sounds that met the man's ears were more chilling than anything he could have ever imagined. He felt it, rather than heard it, the rumble pushing through him, causing his heart to beat faster, and he breaths to come in short, intermittent gasps.

"S—S—Sabretooth…"

The great man-cat looked at its prey, stalking ever closer to inhale the scent of imminent death…

"That's right…" he purred darkly, one hand lazily reaching for the exposed belly of its target. With a lazy swipe, its contents came pouring forth in a burst of bright red and pink. Thick chunks splaying out amidst a cry of pain, desperation and futility.

The blood coated his face, his hands, his clothes. Warm, wet, thick…_sweet_. The predator reveled in the carnage.

**.**

**.**

Birdy awoke with a scream, her body covered in sweat, the remnants of a nightmare still lurking in the back of her mind. It was still dark outside, and there were no sounds in the house.

She sat up and threw off the sheets, turning quickly to turn on the lights, letting the artificial glow fill the room.

She sat on the edge of her bed, her head in her hands as she slowly regained herself.

She couldn't remember this nightmare, in the same way that she couldn't remember the rest. All she'd felt was fear, pain and despair. The scenes and situations were different each and every time, but the feelings they left were always the same.

It always happened this way. Or rather, it had been happening this way now for more than a year. The nightmares—they came almost like clockwork. At first, they had only been random moments, leaving her with feelings she couldn't name.

Now they came faster, more intense and blinding. She knew the cause. But she needed a solution. Victor was away on a "job". She shuddered in the knowledge of what that meant.

She knew she'd need her strength for when he came back. She had a friend, a good psychiatrist who wasn't shy about his dispensary.

She wanted the sleep. Victor was due back that day, and God…she'd need rest before he came home. She couldn't face him like this. She didn't think she'd be able to do for him what he needed her to, and those needs were…

With a sigh, Birdy reached for her cell phone and quickly dialed the number she'd programmed into the phone.

A deep, soothing voice, slowed with sleep answered on the fifth ring.

"Hello?"

"Professor... I know it's late…but…"

"More nightmares, Birdy?"

"Yes."

A long, heavy sigh greeted her answer, followed by a moment of silence."

"Professor, I know you've said-"

"It's dangerous, for a telepath like you, to try and be the guardian of another man's burden."

"I know, but-"

Her voice trailed off, her silence the unanswered reason to why she did what she did.

"I'll have a prescription filled and waiting for you by the morning."

"Thank you Professor," the relief in her voice was obvious.

**.**

Hours later she was sitting in Victor's study, curled up in the over-sized desk chair, her eyes skimming the monitor and systematically going through the encrypted email system she'd set up for Victor. The mouse to the keyboard was in one hand, a steaming cup of coffee in the other.

The windows in the study were draped with dark, heavy dressings, but she managed to catch a peek of the early morning. The sun wasn't up but the outside was that velvety blue—signaling the dawn's approach.

The computer monitor read the time: 5:58 am.

Victor still wasn't home.

Home.

Victor had called an hour ago letting her know he was on his way. Actually, the phone had rung and she heard a raspy, "I'm coming." It was a bad sign and she needed to be prepared for when he arrived.

She hadn't come with him on this latest mission-choosing instead to opt out of witnessing something she knew would be a bloody mess—the assassination of a top-level government official in the Telavya Regime in North Africa. It was a U.S. sponsored hit—and Birdy knew these kind of missions always were always dirty.

The government hired Victor because he was the best at sending messages and carrying out orders that no one wanted linked back to the states. But with these kinds of missions, treachery and backstabbing always went hand-in-hand. Loyalists turned and more people than necessary got killed.

She'd seen enough of Victor's handiwork in the field and knew this was one she didn't want to be a part of. Victor hadn't forced her to come with him either. In fact, once he accepted the mission he'd "ordered" her to stay home.

It was fine with Birdy. When the cat was away…well…the Bird got to play.

She smiled to herself, relishing the days of peace and quiet and "me" time she'd been able to enjoy.

That had included bubble baths in Victor's over-sized tub, a trip into town for a much-needed manicure and pedicure, hair, and of course, shopping. There was no point in having money and not being able to spend it—though, she was sure Victor would throw a fit once he saw what she'd bought.

The little arrow on the screen moved and another email popped open.

This one made her sit up and smile as she read the details. The bubbly-feeling of adventure rolled through her as she scanned it. Victor wouldn't like it, she knew that just from the description. But this kind of assassination was one that was perfect for her. Clean, no mess.

It required stealth.

Birdy's brain began to dance with various images of how they could pull it off and how she could get him to go along with it.

**.**

**.**

He was in a bad mood as he pulled up to his mansion. The gates parted and he sped through, revving the engine of his 1946 Indian Chief cycle. It was one of his most prized possessions, having bought it straight off the assembly line back in the day. He liked the feel of it—large and hulking, an aggressive, snarling beast, much like its owner. He'd showered that bike with more love and affection than any woman over the years—and the cycle hummed just beautifully for his efforts. Right now though, he was too pissed to marvel at "the wife", as he'd nicknamed her decades ago.

The trip had been hell. He'd been shot at, impaled, lost an arm (_that_ was still healing) and drug through the desert sands behind a speeding Humvee. The sand had ripped large patches of skin off his body. He'd also been targeted for assassination. That was the only surprise he hadn't anticipated about the mission, although, the government had tried numerous times to take him out.

They'd failed, of course, and two contractors had paid for it by having their spines ripped from their body. Victor had taken the time to write a nice little message to his "employer" with the blood, entrails and bones of his victims. He'd have to tell Birdy not to accept any more U.S. contracts for a while. The feds were officially on his shit-list. Oh well. Wasn't like he had any particular loyalties anyway.

Victor kicked the door to the house open and threw his ailing body into the house, screaming her name despite knowing that she would have already heard him.

"Birdy!"

In a flash of gold and blue she was running up to him. He watched her stop about a foot away and look at him, open-mouthed, eyes wide.

"Boss, you don't look so good." She said, walking slowly to him, taking in his ragged appearance. Victor swatted her hand away as she reached out to help steady him as his bad leg gave way and he slumped forward. He pushed too hard, sending Birdy crashing hard into the tiled floor.

The sight of her crumpled at his feet stirred something deep in him and he didn't like it. The way she looked at him, her eyes registering several emotions he knew, but couldn't name—grated on his nerves. He didn't like the implied accusations. It reminded him too much of long ago.

Victor's demons loomed large before him as he pushed himself off the wall. He resumed his path through the kitchen, then the living room and up the stairs. As soon as the doors to his room swooshed open he shed his clothes, walking directly to his bathroom and his tub for a long, hot soak.

As expected, Birdy had followed his orders dutifully and he was pleased to see the tub filled to the brim—the water still hot as evidenced by the steam rising from it.

He slowly lowered his body, the warm water stinging some of the still-healing wounds. As he relaxed the warmth began to work at his tired muscles, and Victor exhaled, the tension leaving his back and shoulders as he relaxed, his head back.

One hand idly reached for the case of cigars perched next to him, three beers joining them. He lit the end of one cigar and inhaled—letting the smoke burn at his lungs, before exhaling the white clouds from his lips.

**.**

**.**

It was the routine. A ritual they conducted in quiet. But tonight…it wouldn't be that way. His calm exterior was a ruse, a fake. And she knew it. The bruises had already started forming on her arm and leg from where she hit the floor. And the longer she kept him waiting, it would only get progressively worse.

Birdy raised herself off the floor and cinched the robe tighter around her waist as she slowly walked up the stairs in Victor's wake. She knew that look in his eyes. That tiny hint of emotion he showed when he knew he'd hurt her. The anger that followed when he knew she'd seen it. That meant consequences.

His demons were breaking free. She could tell he was struggling for control. The battle was never external—it was inward…a torrid, churning sea of emotions that ravaged him…and, if she didn't hurry…would consume him…

Stepping into his darkened room, illuminated only by the faint glow coming from his bathroom, Birdy shuddered at what awaited her, the happy mood she'd been in only minutes earlier disintegrating into the all-too familiar fear she felt whenever Victor called her into his bedroom.

**.**

**.**

He watched as she walked through the bathroom doors, taking careful note of the way the candlelight danced across her body, giving her a glow.

Under the water, he clenched and unclenched his hands…the claws growing and contracting accordingly.

He could smell the fear—a scent he hated on her. On his tongue was the metallic taste of blood—his own, from where he'd cut the inside of his lip on one of his teeth.

There were no smiles.

"C'mere."

One word, and Birdy let the robe fall to the floor. Naked, she slowly climbed into the tub, and on to Victor's lap.

It was their routine. It was how he liked it, and what made it bearable for her.

Her smooth skin slid across his rough, hard outline, the hair on his body tickling at her as she straddled his lap. In this way, she could face Victor—to look into his eyes, not as his subordinate, but as his equal.

Only his eyes moved.

Hard and steely, she could see the tumult behind them. She could feel his body tensing—the warning rumble of danger coursed through her from him.

She adjusted herself atop him, raising her hands to his face. Without warning, Victor lashed out, the water leaping out of the way at the violence of the action. He grabbed her wrists with one of his hands, the other snaking around her waist and pulling her so tight against him, she could feel the steady thrum of his heart.

He growled loudly—not the sound of a man but something other-worldly. She froze—knowing fighting him would only excite him more.

He leaned his face close—the hairs of his beard tickling the side of her neck as he jerked her—causing a long expanse of skin to come into view.

Warm, hot lips began a torturous trail up the side of her neck, under her chin, down her throat—his tongue, slightly rough and dry lapped at the pearls of moisture that covered her skin…savoring the saltiness…

Then he bit. Birdy bit her lips so hard she drew blood as the pain bloomed fresh—so deep it brought tears to her eyes she refused to let fall.

Victor began to lap at the wound right above her collarbone—his tongue soothing the skin as he tasted her…blood in other areas began to fill a different void as he released her hands and his began snaking down the sides of her body and under her legs.

He lifted her up, his mouth never leaving and…knowing what he wanted, she wrapped her arms around his neck to balance herself as she settled her down again.

This time, when she bit her lips—it was from the first thrust—the feel of his hardness, sliding between her wet folds…the head pushing to part her…to open her…

And then, finally, to break through the barrier and penetrate her. She gasped as he expanded her body so large and hard that he always went too-deep: brushing hard against the place between pleasure and pain.

His movements agonizingly slow, but hard—forcing the sounds he liked from her lips as she clung to him, her fingers slipping through his hair.

He was taking his anger out on her body.

The room buzzed with the sounds—water splashing, bodies slapping, growling—a low buzz growing increasingly louder—whimpers of pain…cries of pleasure…

He pushed harder…

And harder…

And harder…

Until he couldn't contain it anymore…

It always happened this way.

She could feel his crest and rose to greet him, her hands on the side of his face as she raced to match his orgasm with her own—

They came in an explosion of bright, white light—and suddenly, Birdy found herself swept up into the thing she feared the most. His mind.

**.**

**.**

_She was under him, fighting. Fear and panic choked her as he pressed their bodies closer…she cried out as his claws dug into her thighs…_

_She screamed as he slapped her—once, then twice…her face bruised from the impact. She tried to bite him as he slammed his lips into hers… Her dress was torn…the ground rough against her skin…_

"_No…please…"_

_She could only whimper in pain as he forced her legs open—the pain searing through her body as he entered her-the last things he saw was the gleaming white of his smile as the world faded to black…and began to spin…_

_Another day, another time… she shivered in the night as she walked alone on the street. She was lost, the silence, unnerving…_

_Why had she come this way?_

_Her footsteps echoed in her ears. Her own shadow caused her to jump…and far away sounds of the city's nightlife had her convinced she was being followed…stalked_…_hunted…_

_He watched the prey as it turned and ran…watched it from above as he kept it moving with each flash of his body. Every shadow—silent figure. She ran…he laughed. Got hard…It would be so good…It felt so good…Like a rat in a maze…soon, he'd have her cornered. Soon, she'd have nowhere to run._

_And the Victor would take his prize. He licked his lips and continued to swing from the rafters…enjoying the scent of terror that rose to greet him..._

_**.**_

_**.**_

A splash of water against his face and the feel of hands slapping him roused him from the glow-induced stupor. He came back to consciousness right as Birdy slid from his arms screaming and fell backward into the water. He recognized immediately what had happened. As she flailed around in the tub pushing backwards, while swinging at him—he reached out to grab her.

Somehow, she had absorbed his memories—she was losing it. She had absorbed _him_.

He ducked as a small fist whizzed through the air. Still heavily drugged from her glow, he didn't move fast enough as her fist collided with his chin.

She swung again and this time he caught both her hands in mid-air—pulling her body close to his as she twisted and tried to fight away. She was panicked and he could tell, completely out of her mind and he fought to hold on to her as she struggled and splashed, trying to break free.

He climbed out of the water, still holding her tight against him as he moved to the bedroom, and away from breakable things.

"Birdy! Birdy! I know you hear me! Birdy!"

She continued to scream at him and flail, yelling obscenities at him. He looked into her wide blue eyes and saw nothing but fear and panic. She was like a trapped animal. He knew that look. She'd do anything to break free.

He pushed her down onto the bed and climbed on top of her, careful not to put his full weight on her body, forcing her to look at him.

"Birdy, I'm not gonna hurt ya…" She twisted and turned in his grip. "Calm down, woman!"

She yelled at him again and then did something unexpected. Seeing his hands wrapped around her wrist and seeming to notice she couldn't break his grip—she bit him. Hard.

The shock, coupled with the pain caught him off guard and it was by pure reflex that he drew one hand back—and slapped her so hard it knocked her sideways off the bed.

Finally. There was silence.

The wound began healing itself, but he didn't notice. Instead, he moved off the bed and bent down to the floor, picking her limp body up and laying her back down gently. He checked her over for damage, relived that he'd only managed to knock her out. Exhausted from the trip and the battle he'd just underwent with Birdy, Victor turned around went to his closet and pulled out a t-shirt and sweats.

Instead of climbing into the bed next to her, he left the room and went down the hall, ignoring the twinge of guilt he felt at striking her.

He'd just have to explain in the morning.

And as he walked away, he thought, not for the first time, why he even gave a damn.


	16. Chapter 16

**Sugar and Spice**

**Chapter 16**

Job offers almost always came anonymously. No one wanted the dirty deed traced back to them. Few times were there ever questions asked, and rarer still were face-to-face meetings. Only when the security deposits cleared would they set off for the mission. Victor demanded 60-percent upfront, just in case someone chose to rabbit on the back end. He was the best at what he did- and if you wanted the best, well, you pay for quality.

Victor liked his missions bloody. The more he got to play, the happier he was. Birdy liked her missions stealthy-the quieter the better. Unfortunately for her, Victor's desires always won out. But not this time.

This time, he owed her. So they were going on a mission of HER choosing.

Creed had been relatively mellow for the last few days. And, she figured she'd probably really scared him (though he wouldn't) admit it, when she'd absorbed so much of HIM during their session. THAT was something she could never anticipate. Calming his fury had always been risky for her, but it seemed that lately, she was beginning to degrade some of the mental strength that allowed her to keep her powers in check. And the pills she'd been taking were starting to lose some of their effectiveness.

Birdy looked in the mirror one final time at her appearance. Her dress was a saturated teal that shimmered when she moved. The material was soft, and hugged every curve of her body, a high neck, and long sleeves with a plunging back line. The large, bright diamond earrings Victor had given her some time ago sparkled in her ears.

She loved it. Loved the way the dress felt against her skin. She smiled at herself in the mirror and turned to the side for a final approving glance.

Granted, it was only another mission. But at least for one night, she could feel like Cinderella going to the ball.

She moved to the door of her suite, stopping only to grab the tiny clutch that held their formal invitations on the bed. After a final glance to make sure she hadn't forgotten anything, she headed out the door, the butterflies in her stomach beginning to dance, and the knives hidden under her dress tickling her thighs.

**.**

**.**

He cursed under his breath as his large fingers fumbled with the black fabric around his neck. It had been decades since he'd had to tie one of these damn things and his claws did not make the situation any easier.

He'd been born at a time when neckties were worn as everyday clothing and yet, he was finding it frustrating to do what should have been an easy task. Finally, he threw the tie down on the bed in disgust and glared at it as if it were his worst enemy.

He was in the suit and it looked decent. The tie would just have to be sacrificed.

Without a second glance at himself, he turned and stalked out of his bedroom, across the living room and out of the door of their suite, without even a glance at Birdy's still-closed door. He was frustrated and ready for the night to be over so he could take this ridiculous shit off.

He hadn't worn suits since '72, and even then it had only been uniform dress, which he hated. A deep rumble emanated from his chest as he came to a stop in the lobby of the hotel, ignoring the appraising looks of several women as they walked by him.

He wanted to kill something, or rather, some ONE. A quick glance across the room told him Birdy still hadn't made an appearance, so he went to the hotel's wet bar. The bartender took one glance at the tall man in black and sent a beer gliding his way. He punctured the can with a claw and downed the amber liquid in three long gulps. When he slammed it back down on the counter, the other guests that had been sitting to his left and right were gone.

Eh.

He was about to call for another, when a slight movement caught his eye in the lobby. Intrigued he sat up, watching, as his Bird came into view.

The frustration he'd felt slowly made its way lower as he watched her walk around, scanning the lobby for him.

He smiled and leaned back on the counter and into a shadow, so he could admire her just a bit longer…

_Damn._

The dress she was wearing had his mind going in dirty directions, and he could see every crest and curve of her…the fullness of her breasts, hell even the 'V' between her thighs…he didn't know how she could be so fully-clothed and absolutely naked at the same time.

At the tightening of his pants, he shook it off and began moving out the shadows to collect her. Suddenly, this mission couldn't get done fast enough.

.

.

Birdy saw him step out of the bar and whatever she was going to say died on her lips at the sight.

Victor was no slouch, but dressed in the all-black suit she'd chosen for him and had carefully tailored, he looked...

He came to her side and wrapped one arm around her waist, bending his head down so his lips brushed against her ear…

"You look good." His warm breath tickled her ear as he pulled her tight against his side.

She turned to face him, her body pressed close to his, so tight she could feel HIM.

"So do you, boss," she raised her arms around his neck and kissed him under his chin, earning another purr of satisfaction.

For a minute, the idea of skipping the job altogether took hold of him and he wanted nothing more than to go back upstairs.

But a tug on his shirt brought him back.

"Ready?" She was giving him those eyes again…big and pretty and blue and slightly pleading.

He relaxed his grip but laid his hand across her naked back to guide her across the lobby.

"Let's hurry this up. I got other things I wanna do tonight." His smile was more leer and she couldn't help but shudder a bit as an exited thrill ran through her at the words he didn't say.

.

.

It was a private party. And by the looks of the swanky cabin/lodge they'd pulled up to, whoever the host was wasted no expense. The weather was on the cold side which Victor didn't mind, but as soon as Birdy stepped out the car a strong gust of arctic air blew, chilling her to the bone.

Victor stepped out in front and she followed him as he cleared a path for them through the crowd and walked right up to the front door.

Birdy smiled at his back as he handed their invitations to the host at the door. She knew all eyes were on him - even if HE didn't seem to notice.

They'd passed several people on the way up and Birdy had caught the eye of several of the women—who seemed slack-jawed at the sight of him, and shooting daggers at her.

She'd caught the looks and simply smiled as she glided away.

It was a proprietary thing. For the night, he was hers and hers alone. Her smile only widened as they walked in to the home, and Victor slipped two glasses of champagne off the tray from the waiter walking by. He silently handed one to her and she quickly raised it to her lips to disguise the growing grin.

.

.

He could smell the frails as they walked by, could hear the increased heart rates, the scents of arousal and worse—every single word. And all of it was directed at him. It annoyed the hell out of him. And as they entered the house, the roar of laughter hit him like bricks. Out in the open, sound could travel. In closed spaces, it reverberated, grated on his delicate ears.

He quickly grabbed two of the champagne flutes that drifted by him and downed one, handing the other to Birdy.

Birdy… He turned his head and glanced down, pleased she was still there, standing by his side. He really, REALLY wanted this job to be over quickly…

Just as he was about to grab her and make for a dark corner, a tall, slender man stepped between them and took Birdy's hand.

Victor bit back a growl and was about to raise his hand to knock the man off, but the look in Birdy's eyes had changed. She looked her gaze on him, and in silent understanding he backed down.

Just like that, they'd found their target…or rather…their target had found them.

Victor turned away, and moved toward the back of the room, where a mini-bar had been set up. He found a seat on a side stool, near the floor-to-ceiling drapes that he could dip behind should he have too. It was a good vantage point.

He could slip out of sight and just observe. So he did…not knowing that he wasn't the only one keeping watch that night.

.

.

"Care to dance, pretty lady?" She shot her companion her most brilliant smile, and tilted her head back coyly.

"I don't know…who is making the offer?" she said, shooting a quick glance over his shoulder to Victor. He was pissed, she could tell, so she silently pleaded with him with her eyes. _Don't blow it boss! This is our target!_

He seemed to get it, and gradually walked away, until he had somehow blended his massive frame into the crowd and was out of sight, leaving her, seemingly, alone with her soon-to-be victim.

The man bowed slightly before gently taking her hand in his and raising it to his lips.

"Marty Evers, Senator, for pretty ladies." He winked and Birdy laughed. He leaned forward to her and whispered in her ear. "I'd love to take you on a private tour."

It was her chance. She pretended to think about it for a moment, while secretly checking for Victor. Satisfied that he wasn't around to blow her cover, she linked arms with the Senator and smiled up at him.

"I'd love to."

They made their way to the staircase at the back of the room and started up, the senator stopping to speak with a younger man with sandy brown hair who was on his way down. The other man cast a long look at Birdy, seeming to appraise her before nodding at whatever the senator said, and continuing on his way down the stairs.

He made her skin crawl, the other man, and try as she might, she couldn't discern what he was thinking, which surprised her. A quick mind scan revealed traces of resentment and anger, but at what or whom she couldn't discern. To probe deeper, she needed to be closer, and she didn't have time for that. She could tell, though, that the source of his anger wasn't the senator, nor was it her, so she let it go.

And they continued up the stairs and on their way.

**.**

**.**

He followed their every movement, never taking his eyes off them as they wound their away around the mess of bodies and then out of the fray, to trace a path down the side of the walls and eventually up to a back staircase tucked away in the back of the room. He watched as they made a steady climb, stopping only to talk with another person coming down the stairs, and ultimately to a door that led, who knew where.

It made his hackles rise, at the thoughts that were trying to come to the forefront—the rage, sure, but the jealously and the intense feeling that made him want to run up the stairs, snatch her back, kill him and mark his territory.

Damn that woman.

He shook his head and slammed back another shot that appeared at the bar before him. He'd give her ten minutes. Then he was coming up. Besides, he felt he was being watched, and that was something else he didn't like.

Sharp eyes scanned the room looking for a sign of the culprit, up and down the mass of bodies, into darkened corners…nothing. He lifted his eyes once again to the balcony where Birdy had disappeared and thought he saw a shadow. He blinked, and it was gone.

He suppressed the growl of agitation that rose in his chest, instead dug his claws into the marble bar top.

He was in a bad place. His mind was playing tricks on him. Images of his Bird doin' to someone else what she'd done to him, had him on edge…

Another drink slid down his way, and without looking up, he slammed it back, the amber liquid snaking its way down his throat, the warmth momentarily filling him then fading away. ..a drunk that couldn't get drunk.

He sent the glass back, his claws slowly etching deep groves in the marble stone as he waited.

**.**

**.**

Birdy settled down on the bed in the room, watching the senator with a smile playing on her lips. It didn't reach her eyes, and he didn't notice, as he took off his jacket, unbuttoned the top two buttons on his shirt, and promptly sat down beside her, one hand snaking its way up a covered thigh.

He leaned in close to her face and she turned away, leaving her neck exposed. She suppressed a shudder as the heat of his breath touched her skin.

Really, it was irrational, she knew. He was handsome, he was rich, he was powerful—he was everything Victor wasn't and had she met him years ago, she certainly wouldn't have been inclined to kill him. Hell, she wasn't even using her powers at the moment, but she could tell his mind was weak. She could have him eating out of her hand, if she wanted too.

But she was quickly realizing, that what had worked for her in the past…her own personal brand of seduction—just wasn't working now.

It just didn't _feel _right. He had to go. And she had to get out of there quickly.

Birdy put her hand on the senator's chest and pushed him back gently, before rising to turn to face him.

She snaked her way toward him, watching his eyes watch the sway of her hips as she pressed her body against his and he lay back on the bed, facing her.

She put both hands on his chest as she hovered above him and leaned in close. He closed his eyes.

"God you're beautiful," he whispered.

She leaned close to his face, her lips at his ear, feeling that familiar tingle in her fingers as she tightened her hold on him.

"I'm sorry, senator." There was a pang of regret. Her voice cracked. This wasn't as fun as she'd thought.

It took him a minute to register what she said, after the first spasm rocked his body, and his heart began beating wildly.

Another spasm hit and this time, his limbs flailed and his tongue rolled into the back of his throat.

Still, Birdy hung on.

And suddenly, they came and he began to lurch under her, quaking as his heart tried and failed to regain its equilibrium. Soon, his eyes rolled into the back of his head, and he stopped moving.

His heart gave a final beat. Then stopped.

Birdy rose, and turned away. Without a backward glance, she exited the room and walked slowly back down the hall, to the staircase.

**.**

**.**

He couldn't take it anymore. He'd find her and drag her out if he had to. Mind made up, Victor rose and pushed his way through the throng of bodies, not caring about the angry looks being shot his way as he forced his path through.

At the bottom of the stairs was a tall, slim guy with brown hair. He looked like he could blend into the wall and Victor didn't give him a second look as he started up the stairs.

A hand reached for his arm and he looked at the offending limb and its owner with a snarl.

"Excuse me sir, you can't go up there."

"Oh really? Watch me."

With a swift hand he had the other man around the neck, lifting him off his feet and slamming him back into the wall.

"Now, say that again." He growled, revealing sharp fangs. He tilted his head to the side, glaring at his prey as his nostrils flared, picking up a scent that felt slightly familiar. He kid was gagging and struggling, and he heard footsteps at the top of the stairwell. He didn't dwell on what he'd just smelled. Just as he dropped the man in a crumpled heap on the floor, he saw a twinkle of blue at the top and the emerging form of Birdy, on her way down.

"Boss?" She looked surprised and he quickly appraised her form, looking for any rumple, any misplaced hair, something that would satisfy the beast in him raging.

He climbed two steps up, grabbed her by the wrist and dragged her down the rest of the way.

"Ow! Boss…stop…" she whispered, her voice pained as he stormed back down the way he'd come. They passed the man on the steps, who was now sitting up and rubbing his neck. He glared at Victor as they passed but caught her eyes and smirked.

She saw his lips move and a hand grazed her ankle as she was dragged down the stairs, across the room and out into the cold air. She gasped as a chill hit her skin, but as soon as they made it out Victor went straight to the nearest car, opened it up, throw her in it.

The tires squealed in protest as they sped out of the iron gates, Victor almost hitting the valet as he jumped in front of the car in a pointless attempt to get it to stop.

Victor was silent as they drove along, and Birdy knew he was angry but didn't know why. She was afraid to say anything, for fear of setting him off.

Soon, they ditched the car a few blocks from their hotel and Victor came around, yanking open the door and once again grabbing her, to drag her down the three blocks, into the hotel lobby, ignoring the looks they were receiving and into the elevator.

As soon as the lift opened into their penthouse, Victor disappeared completely, leaving her alone with Sabretooth.

In a flash, Birdy's back was against the wall, with a clawed hand against her throat, the other shredding the dress the clung to her body. In a moment she was completely naked, save for her underwear, and He was sniffing her, his face in her hair, her neck, under her arms.

Birdy brought her hands up to wrap around his hand in an attempt to pry his hand loose, but he only tightened his grip. His other hand pushing hers away as he pressed against her.

"So, you like to fuck, huh?" Victor's claws dug into her neck and her dress was up, his face between her legs as he inhaled her scent, with long, deep sniffs.

"Stop, please…you're hurting me…" she choked out, her face wet with tears.

Unsatisfied, he dropped her, letting her fall to the ground. Before she could catch her breath, he was on her, pinning her to the floor as he ripped off his own clothes.

"I smell him on you." The five words made her tremble and she cried out, trying hard but failing to break free of him.

"Please, I didn't do anything! I swear, Vic, I swear!"

"The name's Sabretooth, baby… and now it's my turn to play."

He used his knee to spread her legs and Birdy was terrified as he moved into position.

She wanted him, but not like this and she knew if she didn't do something, he'd hurt her. Hell, he already had.

She didn't have time to concentrate her power, she had to act.

He had her hands pinned to her side, but there were other things she could do with the skin-to-skin contact.

As soon as he pushed himself into her, Birdy closed her eyes and forced herself into his psyche. He screamed curses at her as she probed deeper and the two began to struggle for dominance in the red, bloody, endless abyss that was his mind…

"_Get off my momma!" The little boy cried as he ran across the room, only to be met with a large hand striking fire across his face. He fell to the floor with a thud, but quickly jumped back up, ready to take on this larger foe._

"_Little fucker got guts, huh?" The man looked like a grizzly—tall and dark, his face shrouded in thick beard, smelling of old tobacco, dirt and gin. He leaned down until he was face to face with the child, so close the sour-sweet of his breath brushing across the face…_

"_Get yer ass back down in the cellar where you belong, boy!" The large hand came down again—sending the child flying across the room, crashing into the wall. His face on fire from the hit…_

"_Tom, stop! He's your son!" the woman cried, trying to run to her child and straighten her torn dress at the same time._

"_Ain't a son of mine— you whorin' bitch! Fangs and claws…" the man muttered to himself before heaving his heavy frame out the door._

"_Get control of it …or I'll put it down good next time!"_

_The tiny cabin shook as the door slammed, and the woman ran to the crumpled child on the floor, gathering him up in her arms as she rocked back and forth..._

"_He ain't mean it, baby…he ain't mean it…" her tears wet his hair, as his arms wrapped around her, his face buried against her chest… "I'm sorry mama…"_

_The lashes across his back burned like fire as he fell to the ground, watching his own blood pool around him. He tried to rise, only to feel the lightning strike again—and that voice…_

"_God-damned beast! Needs to be broken…I'll break you yet, boy!"_

_Again, and again…he couldn't last…he couldn't break…he couldn't bend… _

_He tried to rise again._

_A kick. The lash…_

_Until the world around him began to spin…_

"_Ain't no son o' mine!"_

_Blood. Everywhere. On his hands. On his shirt. On his face._

"_Victor, no!"_

_Too late. _

_He charged. Claws, fangs, force._

_Anger—his fuel…the world stained…_

_She rushed toward the man, arms outstretched in a hopeless attempt to stop him.._

_Traitor—_

_Her face contorted in pain. Terror…toward HIM…_

_They fell, tumbled down as he clawed, scratched, deeper, harder…more blood…more screams…_

_The man fell to his knees…weak…fading…_

"_Heh…Guess you are your father's son…"_

_One last strike—_

_A scream. A question. "What are you?" _

_Another strike—soft flesh… a whimper…HER eyes…so much like his own…accusing…pained…fearful._

_silence._

_Freedom._

_**.**_

_**.**_

He could see himself through her eyes, this monster, snarling down at her with wild eyes, and extended claws. He looked like the predator, meeting the wide, doe-like eyes of innocent prey.

Victor could only watch as Sabretooth claimed his victory, enjoying the feel of the torment, the satisfaction of the conquest, the thrill of the dominance, of the control.

But the beast was restless, unsatisfied. And then he saw…saw the hurt in her eyes…something more than the physical pain, and it reached out and grabbed him. He struggled against it, but it loomed, growing stronger, deeper in him…

The beast started to calm, started to relent…started to fade…his heart…it beat in his ears, behind his eyes as he stopped moving…frozen in place.

Those eyes…pleading, loving…condemning…he couldn't stand it.

He roared. He thrashed.

She held him…

He fought, harder against her, but she pushed…

And then the turmoil within him began to subside until everything slowly began to spin, and then stop. And his beast stood still.


	17. Chapter 17

**Sugar and Spice**

**Chapter 17**

Victor fell slack against her body, pinning her to the floor. It took all her effort to lift his body enough so that she could get from under him.

Leaving him naked and sprawled out, Birdy rose, and slowly made her way to the bedroom, closing the door behind her and locking it.

There'd be marks in the morning. Birdy crawled into bed and wrapped the blankets around her like a cocoon. Her mind tired, her body exhausted, She could only stare blankly at the ceiling, tears burning but refusing to fall as she tried to ignore that all too familiar voice in the back of her mind.

_He loves me…he wouldn't…_

_Oh, but he will …he can…he almost did…_

Birdy tossed and turned.

_How much more do you have to take? How long will you deal… _

Her vision began to blur as she lost the battle with fatigue. The voice deepened into deep, raspy baritone.

_I'll be the death of you._

**.**

**.**

When Victor woke up, he was naked and the sky outside was purple. The sun was making its way up, but it was still dark inside their room.

His vision cleared and he sat up, looking around him.

Birdy's blue dress was in shreds at his feet, his own tuxedo torn and thrown across the room.

With a sinking feeling the memories of the night before rushed before him.

"Shit." He breathed, raking a hand through his hair as he cast a look at the door. Without even going toward it, he knew it would be locked.

It was always this way.

He'd fucked up. She'd lock him out. They'd tip toe around each other a few days… he'd bring her a present to show his remorse, and eventually, he got back in.

He wondered how long she'd let him keep going.

Her glow was the only thing that _kept_ him going.

He saw the black bag at the foot of the door and walked toward it, ignoring the heaviness of his feet.

She'd made sure his clothes were where he could reach them.

Victor dressed, grabbed his room key, and shut the door behind him. They'd be leaving later that day, hell, if it hadn't been for him, they'd been gone last night.

A bloom of anger rose. Damn that woman, dragging them into a public situation!

It died just as quickly and was replaced with something rare—sadness.

All she'd wanted was a good time. He'd ruined it.

He knew she'd be awake when he got back. Probably dressed, their bags packed.

It always happened this way.

Oh well.

_It's her own damn fault…she never should have gone up those stairs…_

_Yeah right. _He argued right back, remembering her scent…light and sweet, her natural smell, mingling with traces of him, and no one else.

_No one else…_

Him. And _only_ him.

_One day she'll leave. And then what'll you do? One day she won't be there…and it'll only be you….you, and me…me and you…She'll be gone…gone, gone gone._

His hands balled into fists, claws digging into his skin.

_I'll kill her before I let her leave. She's mine. Mine, mine, MINE._

_Yesss…yours…sides' its nothing a good fuck can't cure…fuck her…make her feel pretty…keep her in glitter and Gucci, and gold…it always works…_

Yes…NO!…yes…

Even as he reassured himself…deep down…even he didn't buy his own bullshit…he knew, better than she did…he was slipping.

**.**

**.**

She awoke with a headache, dry eyes and the taste of dried blood on her lips. When she tried to move every muscle screamed in protest and she gave up, flopping back down and burrowing further under the warmth of the blankets.

Images of her dream mixed with the nightmare of those last minutes spent awake danced around her mind—a strange mix of faces—the many faces of Victor Creed…

Victor Creed sane. Victor Creed Insane. Victor after hunt. Victor at peace. Victor asleep. Victor Angry. Victor after sex. Sabretooth at play. Sabretooth at wake. Sabretooth after hunt. Sabretooth after sex. Sabretooth after death. Sabreooth angry. Sabretooth jealous. Sabretooth possessive. Sabretooth homicidal.

Her tormentor. Her captor. Her lover.

She muffled a groan and draped one arm over her head, trying in vain to stop her mind from running. But she couldn't.

_What are you doing?_ Her conscience wouldn't let her rest. _What more does he have to do to you?_ _You take, and take and take—all of him. His demands. His temper tantrums. His bullshit. And you give—Not a part of you—that would be bad enough, but ALL of you! Weak! _

_Weak!_

_Weak! _

_Weak! _

_WEAK!_

She had to do something. She had to find a way to get out.

_What happened to that Birdy in New York? Where's the skilled assassin? Where's the woman who holds her own? Where's the fighter? Where are_ you_? _

The hot tears began to return and, too tired to fight, she let them fall.

_Was it that good? All that time? What did you think? You thought he could CHANGE…didn't you? You thought you could SAVE…him, didn't you? You thought he LOV-_

Her body went hot immediately and she screamed out loud as she threw off the covers and rose quickly, her hands over her ears in a vain effort to drown out the taunting voice in her head.

Ignoring the pain, she quickly ran into the bathroom and jumped in the shower, turning up the heat as high as she could stand it—hotter still until the water began to scald her body.

Birdy gritted her teeth and began to scrub—her arms. Legs. Her chest. Between her legs. Everything. Everywhere…She scrubbed through the pain. Scrubbed until her was almost red. Scrubbed…scrubbed…harder and harder still. Trying to erase the signs. The symptoms. The memories. The emotions…but knowing all the while, that no matter how hard she scrubbed, she could never erase HIM.

.

.

When he came back into the hotel room, he expected everything to be backed—bags by the door and Birdy, sitting on a couch just waiting so they could go.

But when he stepped inside, box in hand, there were no bags. There was no Birdy. The clothes lay as they landed. And he smelled blood…mixed with the scent of salty tears.


	18. Chapter 18

**Sugar and Spice**

**Chapter 18**

**Victor**

He groaned and bit his bottom lip to keep from hissing as he pissed blood.

Hookers—it was always a chancy arrangement and one that, to be frank, he didn't much like. He had a usual set of girls he called to meet his needs, but on this particular night and in this place, none of them had been available.

Rose had been his favorite, and to this day, she was one of the few frails he trusted. But age and time had taken its toll on her and she'd settled into a life of "retirement", now running the brothel he frequented for "rest" and "relaxation". She was discreet, and had trained her girls well. He was always good to Rose and the gals, and they were always good to him.

Now he was paying the price for not being patient—and it burned like a _motherfucker_.

Just because he healed, didn't mean he was immune. It would take a couple hours for whatever he'd caught to work its way out of his body.

Finally, the red turned a neutral color and the flow stopped, leaving him breathless and weak as he tucked himself back in his pants, ran some water over his hands, and left the bathroom to drop into the lumpy bed, it's aging springs groaning under his weight.

Another day. Another hotel. Another place with no name. The routine was uncomfortably familiar to him by now.

Familiar, because it was a return to a routine he used to have prior to a few years ago—fly in, do the hit, and fly out.

Uncomfortable, 'cause he knew when he walked into his mansion it would be ice cold. And that _wasn't_ a descriptor of the temperature.

He'd been on the road for almost nine months since Aspen. He closed his eyes but all he could see was the image of Birdy, curled up on the floor of a shower, the water still running, pink from where the hot water had started blistering her skin and continued to rain down on her…

He opened his eyes and stared blankly at the ceiling.

He'd tried talkin' to her, even playin' nice—new car, new shoes, jewelry, vacation—she had practically drained one of his checking accounts and he hadn't even uttered a word about it.

He'd even tried romancin'. Fancy dinners and all that. Date-nights…but she'd been silent and distant to him. She'd built a wall around herself that not even his _best _behavior and attempts at reconciliation could penetrate.

When she addressed him now, it was short, clipped and impersonal. He longed to hear his name from her lips, but she wouldn't let it fall. It was all "Boss." Or, even worse, "Sabretooth". He fuckin' HATED Sabretooth.

She didn't use _Victor_. And at night, as he lay alone in his own bed in his own room, massaging his own balls, he missed the way she used to moan, _"Creed"_ in his ear as he pleasured her body. He missed her curled up next to him, warm and naked.

Eventually, it began to feel like the walls were closing in. He was a stranger in his own home. So, he'd just said fuck it and left, letting the mansion to her, and letting her run things from there. When there was a new job, she'd call him and tell him where to go next. But nowadays, he went alone.

Creed ran his hand across his face, feeling every bit of the frustration that had him on the edge at the moment. His body was tense, and for a long while he didn't even realize he was growling aloud as his mind raced through his current situation and his claws dug in to the limp mattress.

She'd called last night, and he'd missed it, having been too preoccupied with catching a damn venereal disease to answer the phone. Now, though, the message replayed itself over and over in his head.

"_Boss…"_ silence, mixed with the static of a long-distance connection…then, her again, softer… _"Vic-"_ A sigh, and he felt himself leaning closer to hear what she'd have to say_… "nevermind."_ Different now. That sharp, chipped tone he hated. _"I don't know why I called. It doesn't matter anymore. Ignore this call." _Click.

The end. Of course he couldn't ignore the call. She HAD to know that.

And there he was, in the middle of a shitty hotel room, in some anonymous city, someplace halfway around the world, in a war-torn country. With those few words, she'd managed to take him up, and drop bombs on his world. Now here he was, trying to decide whether to ignore it or jump on the next plane back to Vancouver. Somethin' was wrong.

Through the thin walls, he heard the far-off wail of sirens, the screams of babies, the throbbing sounds of a horrid metal band-all jumbled and mixed with a steady roar in his ears, growing louder, and louder as the room began to spin…

When he came back to himself, he was on his hands and knees on the floor of his hotel room long ragged grooves carved carved into the floor, and broken furniture strewn all over. His throat was raw, and parched, hoarse from overuse. His cell phone lay smashed in the corner.

He got up. Threw on a shirt and picked up his duffle, and walked out, down the stairs and into the crowded city, ignoring the looks of the people around him.

Creed would admit the frustration. He could accept the tension. But this other thing was driving him crazy. This word he knew but refused to say. But maybe that was his only way.

Sure, he knew he could be an asshole. But she knew that early on. They'd been through a lot of shit together, and they'd always managed to make it before, _right_?

**Birdy**

The room was pitch black, curtains drawn and silent, as it had been now for two days.

She wanted it that way. She wanted to drown out the world since she seemed incapable of drowning out her own mind.

Silence had never been so loud.

She was afraid. She was miserable. She berated herself for making that call. Afraid he'd come back…afraid he wouldn't.

_I know why the caged bird sings…_

She'd tried to hate him. For a while, she managed to make it stick…but then hours had turned to days, and days to weeks, and weeks to months, and somewhere along the way, she too became lonely.

But she couldn't let him win this one. She couldn't forgive him. She couldn't care. She shouldn't care. And for almost nine months she'd been in a constant war with herself.

Take. Take. Take. That's all he did. Her body. Her mind. Her power. Her "glow". He'd taken almost everything from her, giving little back in return.

But he had given her something. A lesson. And, a hard one, for sure. After years of being on her own, she berated herself for having fallen so completely, for being so submissive, so naïve…so _vulernable_.

He'd given her something else too—though that one was too fresh and too painful to acknowledge now. Her message to him replayed itself in her mind…a moment of weakness, of wanting to reach out, of wanting someone to connect to—the fear of being alone at a moment when she desperately needed arms around her, to hold her and make her feel alright…

She'd wanted to say _"help."_ But that would mean she'd had to be the first to break. She couldn't do that. She couldn't tell him he'd won.

It was too late. The damage was done.

At first, she'd shied away from his touch. And she'd felt a small spark of satisfaction knowing he was going to bed, alone, each and _every _night. When they were still under the same roof, she could hear him tossing and turning, haunted by the nightmares she refused to keep for him anymore. _Let him struggle with his own demons_—stepping in only when she knew the situation was at its breaking point, and even then, giving him only enough to tame his fire, and never again to completely extinguish it or try to pacify it.

She'd WANTED him to hurt. She'd WANTED to bring him pain.

Each and every single day, she would walk by him, never speaking—yet taking pleasure in the fact that he wanted to touch her, but couldn't.

He was dead to her. _That's what you think..._

They were strangers bound together by unspoken works, broken promises, and lies. He'd shattered her illusion and she felt the bitterness of betrayal.

Then, over time, it had begun to fade, accelerated by tiny flutters of hope…

Birdy's body shook as the chills once again started, her body cramping under heavy blankets. She moaned softly, tossing and turning as she floated in a place between consciousness and sleep.


	19. Chapter 19

**Sugar and Spice**

**Chapter 19**

The mansion was cold and silent when he walked inside and dropped his duffle bag in the corner. It had been raining all day, and there were no lights on, and the place felt damp.

"Birdy?" He called, his voice echoing off the high walls. He waited a moment for a response but there was no answer.

Still, she was there. He could smell her. Her scent was all over the place, as he walked around the lower level through the kitchen—she'd been here, but it was a little faint—so, at least not in the last day or two. He checked the living room—fainter still, and then, finally he headed up the stairs. As he reached the bottom, he stopped, and sniffed the air again.

What he smelled made his heartbeat speed up a little faster, and within four leaps, he was at the top and running down the hall to her room.

He damn near broke the door down when the smell smacked up hard.

A thick, metallic scent that he could practically taste.

Blood.

"Birdy?" he whispered to the lump of blankets bunched up on the bed.

He was greeted by a soft moan, and the fluffy-mound moved slightly, but she didn't stick her face out so he could see her. Warily, he stepped through the door and toward her.

Her scent was different. Though the blood had captured his attention and got him up the stairs, something else had his hair standing on end.

He settled on the edge of her bed and leaned over to carefully remove the layers of blankets she had burrowed under, until he saw a tuft of light, blond hair, laying limply on a pillow that was slightly damp. He pulled the sheets down further until he saw her, and his brow crinkled in worry.

Birdy's eyes were closed, her breathing labored, and a thin sheen of sweat covered her face. He could smell the bleeding—but as he removed the sheets further, couldn't see any external sign of it.

He leaned in close to her, but she barely stirred as he inhaled deeply and gently ran his hands down her body, checking for anything that could give him a clue…he found it quickly, and drew his hand back as if he'd been burned, staring down at her, but not quite seeing, his mouth open, his eyes swimming as the pieces of the puzzle fell in place…

Now the fear in his heart turned to pain—a searing sensation that coursed across his chest formed a limp in his throat that, try as he might, he couldn't swallow.

So, he kicked off his shoes, and moved the blankets, lifting her gently, and then then sliding into the bed next to her. She still didn't wake as he repositioned her body to cradle her in his arms.

He didn't know whether she'd be pissed when she woke and saw him, or too tired to put up much of a fight. They'd already lost too much. And most of what was gone was his fault. He should have come back sooner.

He should be mad at her. He should be shaking her. He should be cursing her and damning her. But the rage he thought he should have felt just wasn't there.

His solace was that she was sleeping. So she'd never see him like this. And when she woke…well…he'd deal with it then. He knew he couldn't keep them both, knew he didn't deserve them, but in the deepest recesses of his mind, and for the first time in more than a century on the Earth—both the man and the animal were in agreement on one thing—it hurt like hell.

Birdy 

She didn't know how long she'd been out, but sometime during the night, her fever had broken. Birdy began moving to try and stretch, surprised when her sheets squeezed around her tighter.

Bleary-eyed, she looked up and froze: the deep, green eyes staring back at her unblinkingly. She was caught in his arms, and it was clear he wasn't letting go. She opened her mouth to speak, but her throat was dry. She tried to break his grip but she was too weak.

Too exhausted to protest, she lay her head back down on his chest.

"You shoulda told me."

She felt the words, rather than heard them, and it felt like a knife through her heart.

She breathed deeply, trying to muster the strength to respond.

"It doesn't matter now. She's gone." She breathed, her voice coming out in a raspy whisper.

_She…_He fell silent, and his grip around her tightened.

Birdy was so tired. She knew she should be fighting him. Knew she should be screaming at him. But she found she couldn't. All her anger at him had burned out. And he seemed to know it. She felt him rub his face against her hair, and slowly, inhaling his scent, she drifted back off to sleep.

**Part II**

After a week, she was out of bed. At week three, Birdy had started running. At week six, her body had almost fully bounced back—only a slight roundness of her lower belly remained. A reminder, she thought, looking at herself, naked in the mirror.

She noted her color had returned. And while she'd chosen not to think too hard about it, when she did, the pain would flare up and she'd swallow it back. She was stronger now. Everything had become clearer. She could understand the things she was feeling. The fact that she could feel was amazing. At week 10, her body was completely healed.

On more than one occasion, during her early morning runs through the woods of the property, Birdy would sometimes catch a glimpse of him through the trees. He'd always be facing away from her, his focus on cutting down dead limbs, or chopping wood. Against herself, she couldn't help but admire him again. Almost always shirtless, his skin tanned from centuries of outdoors and hard labor, the gentle flex of the muscle under his skin as they worked in tandem to produce the requested movement. His hair had grown longer, and also lighter, like a mane across his bare shoulders….

It had been so long since he'd touched her the way she WANTED to be touched…and with the passing of months, the first flickers of a flame began to stir within her…

Birdy put her brave face on as she looked at herself once again in the mirror.

He'd been back for two-and-a half months and in that time, he'd exercised a greater strength of will than he'd ever known. He hadn't yelled—hadn't felt like it really. There had been no anger, and it seemed, for the first time in a century or more, his animal had finally gone into hibernation, letting Victor, the man, have full control.

It was in this time that he slowly began to realize he'd been able to get along without Birdy's special "glow" for almost a full year. Maybe all those blasts to his brain had changed something. Maybe this was his chance.

At the time, his clarity of mind, and, albeit reluctantly, heart, began to come into focus for him. And he realized that while it was still new and tentative at best—that he might be able to live without Birdy's glow, he couldn't bear the thought of living without Birdy.

Victor was deep in thought in his study, the drapes drawn, the only light coming from the tip of his cigar as he inhaled a slow drag, held it, and exhaled smoke rings into the air. The tips of his claws tapped steadily on the arm rest of his recliner. His feet were propped up, his head back, eyes closed.

He'd watched as she slowly recovered, and made sure to hire extra help around the house to give her room. A woman came three times a week to cook their meals and clean up around the place. She was quiet and discreet and after the first few visits, he barely noticed her.

In the last few weeks, he'd returned to woodworking. It was a skill he'd honed in his early years—a way to make a living off the land, one of the few things his pa had taught him when the old man had been sober and not beatin' the living daylights out of him.

Rarely, if at all did he think about Thomas Logan. Normally, such thoughts would be accompanied by a violent rage—and at the moment, he felt the familiar tingles from the tips of his fingers as the nail beds split, and the talons lengthened. The anger that was always there remained, but rage didn't come.

Truth be told, the old man had been in his head a lot lately, as he dealt privately with his own brief brush with parenthood. Sometimes, as he worked a piece of wood, he thought about those fleeting and rare moments with Thomas Logan.

"_Haw, boy!" _His father would grin with a genuine pride when Victor had gotten somethin' right. He'd be rewarded with a firm grip on the shoulder as his father appraised the shape of the wood in his hands. Even then, as a young boy of five, Victor's distinctive nails had taken shape and form. Smaller, still delicate with his youth, but rapidly hardening.

"_Them there hands o' yern will earn ya keep, boy."_

How prophetic Thomas Logan had been, Victor smiled ruefully as he reached for the glass of whisky on the side table next to his chair, his claws making chinking sounds against it. His old record player was on low, the raspy voice of Joe Crocker's "Let's Go Get Stoned" weaving through the room.

He'd never been a long sleeper and so he'd been up early enough in the morning, outside, pruning his trees back and working in the wood. Some of the branches had been thick enough for him to work with and he'd even had to cut down a few trees that were nearing their death. Along the way, he'd started doing what came naturally—working with wood.

The side table was one of his recent efforts—its arms shaped and carved by his hands, he'd even done his desk—replacing the old one with the new—a creation of arches and slopes, leaving the wood unfinished, the pine scent strong.

One morning, a few days ago, he'd been up before the sunrise working, when he heard the steady beat of feet and slightly labored breathing. He'd climbed up in the nearest tree and balanced himself on a branch, watching as Birdy jogged up around one of the paths he'd created around the property, her blond hair swinging.

He'd felt himself stirring toward her as she ran past him, watching her hair whip in her face. The tight fitting workout clothes she wore gave him the clearest evidence of how her body had changed. Everything had gone back in place, and looked as tight as he remembered. But her hips were wider, her breasts fuller.

But he didn't want to press his luck. He knew better than to fuck up a good thing. She was talking to him at least now. But what he wanted was something more. He wanted to touch her, feel her again.

Damn, he missed her.

Victor was caught in his own thoughts, and didn't notice the doors to his study open.

She walked in quietly, her shoulders back, her step confident. In the dim light from the hall, she could make out his silhouette. His head was back. She walked quietly over to him, and saw him inhale. He was aware of her, this she knew.

Slowly, Birdy climbed on top of him, moving until she straddled his lap. She could feel him hardening against her, but he stayed still.

She ran her hands under his shirt to lay her open palm onto his stomach, hearing the sharp intake of breath at her touch. The planes were smooth and firm, she traced them with her fingertips, his hair brushing against her skin.

He thrust up into her touch.

The hands moved of their own volition and he obeyed, allowing her to remove his shirt.

He cupped her checks gently, marveling at the way each fit fully into his palm.

She lowered herself, her breasts teasing against his chest, and his lips caught her under her chin, his tongue tracing a path lower to lap and gently at the base of her neck.

He rose, holding her steady around his hips as she clung to him, and, not breaking his pace, he continued on with his slow exploration as he walked out of the study and up the stairs to his bed room where he placed her gently, on his bed and stood above her to admire.

In the moment she was completely exposed to him, she flushed and made a move as if to reach for cover. But he was faster, and, lowered himself to his knees to begin to kiss her. Starting with her feet, his arms parting her thighs to trace a path up her body, until his tongue began to probe between her legs and she moaned and shuddered, her hands tangled in his hair as she quivered.

She was beautiful to him, and all shyness began to fade away. He caressed and stroked, laying a hand on her belly, to feel her tremble… he felt his own burning desire starting and quickly freed himself from his cotton prison to settle between her…

The first thrust made her gasp and he felt her tighten against him as a deep rumble came from his own lips… even tighter than he remembered, and so wet…

He pushed again and her hands moved to steady his hips as one arm came around to lift her leg…

One more push and she gave. He felt himself sinking into warm, wet heat, being sheathed inside a place that fit him and engulfed him.

They moved together. The bed beginning to sing the notes of passion and desire…largissimo, andante, allegretto, vivace…

Faster and faster still, until she clutched him around the shoulders and pulled him down to her lips, as her orgasm ripped through her, his pace forcing cries of passion from her lips as her body shuddered and he kept going…driving her deeper and deeper into ecstasy…

He came hard—letting out a deafening roar as he pushed deeply in her , and she could feel him pulse as he spent himself…could feel him shudder beneath her hands as he body went taught, the last pulsating movements finishing inside her..

He lay atop her.

Both of them breathing deeply, trying to catch their breaths and come back down…

_Victor…_she whispered his name in his ear as fatigue slowly began to win over and her breathing started to relax.

She felt him shift, and then, in a moment that delicious weight against her was gone, and she shuddered at the loss. But then, arms came around her, and she felt herself pulled tight against him, his lips by her ear.

They were falling asleep, their bodies curled into one another, molded, as if by design…

She heard him whisper in her ear, and her heart soared, and her eyes felt wet. Words she'd wanted him to say for so long. One hand slipped down to her belly and began to caress gently. She moved against him, her lips parting in a soft sigh as she fell asleep.

The hands on the clock on the wall above them ticked slowly into position: 11:45 am. It was just loud enough to disguise a slight whirr.


	20. Chapter 20

**Sugar and Spice**

**Chapter 20**

If there was anything certain in the relationship between Victor Creed and Bernadette Peterson, it was that there was no certainty. Peace was a fragile illusion that could be shattered in a moment like glass.

Love and forgiveness were not compatible in this place. And sometimes one form of love, was overshadowed by another, higher, stronger version that made the agony of betrayal and its imminence that much more painful to bear.

A slight buzzing in her ear made her stir in the early morning hours and she rose, careful not to wake her lover. Small feet with delicate ankles sank deeply and noiselessly into plush burgundy carpeting, the steps sure and light as they moved across the bedroom, toward the solid steel door the separated this space from the rest of the house. With a soft hiss, the walls parted to allow her through.

Birdy walked quietly down the hall to her own room. Once inside, she closed the door, locked it and went into her closet, where her laptop sat, open and waiting.

After a few clicks of the console, the screen flashed and the small listening device in her ear came on.

"Long night?" The voice on the other end was young, male and bitingly sarcastic. She tensed.

"That's none of your business."

"Your business is MY business, babe. I need to make sure our deal is still in place and I don't need your sentimental bullshit fucking that up."

Birdy closed her eyes and exhaled—trying to keep her patience and the tremors out of her voice.

"You have everything you need. Victor is here. I don't want any more of this."

The line clicked and crackled in her ear and then went silent. She went to terminate the communication, but the voice returned, dropping several octaves lower and coming out in a volume barely above a hiss.

"Be careful what you wish for. You might just get it."

Just as she moved to terminate the line she heard a high-pitched whistle, followed by a thud on her bedroom window. She moved to inspect a thick, black glob that was sliding down the glass when it exploded, sending her flying backward and slamming her body into the wall. Quickly, Birdy yanked down the bed sheets, and ran out her bedroom door, wrapping the cloth around her body as she went. As she bolted down the hall, the sounds of more things breaking began, this time louder, as the glass shattered and bullets began raining down all around her, shattering the walls around her.

Just as she hit the bottom of the stairs, the front doors flew open, the force stopping her forward momentum as she skidded and then fell down, quickly moving backwards on her hands and feet as more than a dozen heavily armed men loaded with high-powered assault guns rushed in. Ignoring her, they took off up the stairs toward Victor's room.

Out-gunned and overpowered, Birdy took off in the opposite direction, but she wasn't fast enough. As she neared the garage door, a thick arm grabbed her around the waist and picked her up.

She kicked and failed, the fighter in her coming out full force as she turned on her assailant—landing several well-placed kicks and blows to his solar plexis and abdomen so that he dropped her and howled in pain.

"You bitch!" His face was shrouded in a black ski mask but his brown eyes glared out at her from two slits as he lunged for her again, catching her by the ankle and once again tackling her to the ground.

Suddenly, a loud explosion thundered through the house shattering what windows remained and Birdy grabbed her ears as they rung with the pain from the vibration.

A loud roar followed the explosion and she knew that they had reached a VERY angry Sabretooth.

Her attacker paused momentarily at the sound, and seeing her chance, Birdy kicked herself free and made another break for the garage door, yanking it open. But her pursuer wouldn't be thwarted. As soon as she reached the top step she felt a heavy thud on her back and went flying face-first toward the bottom, the impact knocking the wind out of her. It was the opportunity her attacker needed to jump her yet again, yanking her up by her hair and pinning her arms behind her back.

"A feisty little minx aren't you? I see why the big cat likes you as his play toy." His hot, rank breath floated across her face, reaching her nose and making her gag.

"I heard you scream when he was fucking you. Saw the whole thing, like a good porno. You got a nice ass…you like it rough, huh?" Incensed, Birdy lashed out once again, kneeing him, but instead of falling, he whirled her around and slapped her hard across the mouth so hard her head spun and she saw stars.

Above her, the floor rocked and she heard the sound of gunfire and screams, snarls and roars.

Suddenly, Sabretooth roared again and she heard a series of gunshots followed again by a sound that made her cry out—another roar, but this time tinged with a gurgling sound that struck fear deep in her heart.

_What have I done?_

It was her heart that cried out for him, the anguish coming out in her voice as she yelled his name at the top of her lungs with all the strength she could muster.

"VICTOR!"

"Shut up, bitch." This time, the force of the hit knocked her head sideways, and she only felt a small flash of pain before the world turned completely dark.

Upstairs Victor fought against the onslaught of armed mercenaries, slashing and punching, ripping and tearing—but still they came, guns blazing. He took the body shots, but they kept coming. He let out a roar of anger.

Who WERE these people and how DARE they come into HIS house?

He had just finished ripping the head off one when another came up, assault rifle in hand and fired off several rounds—right into his chest. He stumbled backward, and let out another roar—this one choked with his own blood.

Just as he turned to off the offender, he heard Birdy scream—her voice filled with so much anguish it made his blood turn to ice and made him see red. He paused.

In that moment another masked intruder saw his chance and aimed a gun strait toward Sabretooth, firing off an electrified net that wrapped around the large mutant and sent a current through his body that made him seize on the floor.

Two more assailants came with tranquilizer guns and fired again and again, until he stopped moving—his healing factor weakened by the onslaught…slowly, Sabretooth began to fade…the sound of Birdy's scream haunting his ears.

**Part II**

**10 months ago**

_She heard the garage door slam followed by the loud growl of an un-throttled Harley. She didn't realize she'd been holding her breath until the sound dimmed and she heard the familiar squeal of rubber—the sound of Victor pulling out the drive, on his way to his latest assignment._

_Birdy peered out the downstairs window just in time to see his form disappear around the bend, and she wasted no time._

_With trembling fingers, Birdy dashed into her bedroom, grabbed her duffle, already pre-packed, and headed down to the garage. It lit up as she entered revealing the display of cars and trucks, each gleaming as if in on the floor of a dealer's showroom._

_Victor's big toys had lost their appeal long ago. Without a second glance she grabbed a set of keys hanging on the wall and went to her car. The black Bugatti Veyron purred to life under her slim fingers. She quickly shifted the gears and the car slid out the open garage and began making its way down the road, its driver, casting anxious glances in the rearview mirror looking for her invisible enemy._

_After driving four hours south, she pulled off the highway into an empty rest area, where she parked the car and got out, squinting into the sun._

_After about 20 minutes, a sleek black limousine pulled up, flanked by four SUV's—all with blacked-out windows._

_The windows rolled down and a man got out of the driver's seat, beckoning her over._

_She slid into the car on the other side, and the driver closed the door behind her. She found herself facing a one-way glass window that separated her from the car's passenger. She couldn't see him, but she could hear his voice._

"_So, I see you've finally come around"._

_Birdy's heart was racing but she was nothing but determined. One hand lingered slightly over her belly as she spoke._

"_You said to call you if I had a problem," she said. _

"_And you now have a problem." The voice prompted. _

"_You gave me your card," she whispered. I found it in my things after…" Her voice trailed off. "Help. Please…" she wrapped her arms around herself, feeling desperate, scared and lost. _

"_I'll take care of what you need." The voice prompted. "But in return, you give me Victor Creed."_

…

_Months later, she lay on a hospital bed, her legs spread wide, pushing with all her strength , the pain the most intense she'd ever known. Nurses surrounded her, doctors rushed in an out and she breathed, and panted, and groaned and screamed, her face and body wet with perspiration, on the brink of dying and yet only truly beginning to live. Sharp pains wracked her body as she pushed with all her heart, all her energy—the effort causing her to throw her head back and scream._

**The Present**

Victor awoke, strapped to a table, and completely naked. The room was all white, and the lights were so bright they temporarily blinded him.

As he slowly regained his senses, he became aware that he wasn't alone. His vision became blurred by a dark gray shadow—a mechanical beast with a hollow voice. He began to focus on the sounds around him to get his bearings, but slowly realized that the room he was in was completely insulated.

I see you're awake Sabretooth. You're probably wondering who I am and why you're here." His sharp green eyes narrowed as he took in his captor/victim.

"Not really," Creed snarled, his voice a threatening growl. He took in the shape of a robot-man, and instantly he began to chuckle to himself.

The goon was ridiculous—playing big and bad in a robot suit, trying to appear to be something he wasn't. Maybe it would have worked on a lesser man that Creed. But he'd been around more than 200-years, and age and time hand inured him from the threats. Nothing and no one intimidated Sabretooth. Especially not a pansy playing super-villan in a robot suit. The entire situation was rapidly becoming darkly humorous. Creed ran his tongue over his fangs.

"What are you laughing at?" The hollow voice got louder, but its tenor never changed. The tinny chink of metal-on-metal rang out through the room as a fist slammed on the table by one of Creed's legs.

"I'm laughin' at a boy who thinks dressing up in his Iron-man costume is gonna scare somebody. You got no idea who you're fuckin' with, little bitch."

Creed spat the words, and he could see his enemy recoil. He stared directly into his face, challenging. Daring.

"Oh, I bet NOTHING scares the big, bad Pussy cat," his captor taunted creeping closer. He leaned down, until he was close enough to Victor's ear to whisper. "But I know you're deepest secrets. I know what makes you tick. I know what makes YOU, you. And I know how to hurt you in a way no one else can. See…I've got something of yours…" he taunted, taking a step back.

With a flick of his wrist, the white wall above Creed's head began to flicker until it blended away and an image appeared. Creed realized he was watching a live video of another room. But its contents snapped him to attention, and he immediately stiffened as he saw Birdy strapped to a chair, wrapped in a now-dirty white sheet.

Her hair was matted, and her mouth was gagged. There were bruises on her cheeks and a thin trail of blood on her chin. She looked unconscious.

"You see, Sabretooth…" The voice was now grating on his nerves. But his captor was so caught up in self-satisfaction, he didn't notice the lengthening of deadly claws, nor the tell-tale popping of the steel shackles that were begging to give under the strain of pressure and muscle slowly lifting them from their mountings.

"I've got your precious."

The last of the words had barely faded from the mask than Sabretooth reared up and went on the attack. The first hit sent his enemy reeling backward. The second was an uppercut—which sent him flying, and the third was a solid kick that sent him crashing out of the lone window in the room.

Not even sparing a side glance back, Sabretooth ran full force, hitting the wall so hard it gave way and he found himself in the middle of a long hallway in an office building, doors all around. He quickly began moving, relying on scent alone to navigate the maze of white walls and doors.

Birdy's scent grew stronger has he turned yet another corner, but just as he prepared to go through the door, it burst open and once again he faced an onslaught of armed guards.

The sound of ricocheting bullets echoed through the halls followed by the screams and growls as the battle raged just inches from where Birdy was in the center of the room. But this set of guards weren't as well trained nor as numerous of those that had broken into their home. And, breathing and bleeding heavily, his wounds rapidly closing, Sabretooth dispatched them quickly. Just as he stepped into the room, the glass window on the back wall shattered, spraying him with shards. He stumbled back but regained his footing in time to see Birdy freed from the chair, and his enemy using her body as a shield.

The metal helmet had fallen off, revealing a wild-eyed, slim, brown-haired man glaring angrily at Creed as Birdy, now awake, struggled in vain against him.

"Come on! I dare you! What's the matter? Afraid you little bitch is gonna die? Good. Killing her will kill you. And even if you kill me, she dies too. So, what are you gonna do?"

He looked familiar and it took Creed a moment to place him.

"I know you…" Creed said slowly. "You're the little punk I shoulda offed when Birdy killed your Senator-boss. What's the matter? Did we kill your _BOYFRIEND?"_ He sneered, moving carefully, keeping his eye on his target and forcing himself to take his mind off Birdy.

He could hear her muffled cries as she fought to wriggle away from her captor.

"You're a simple bastard aren't you? You don't even know ME! You have no IDEA who I am, do you?" The man taunted as they circled each other—Birdy caught in the middle. With sudden force, he reached up and yanked the gag out of her mouth. Birdy screamed to Victor.

"Creed, he's your SON! His name is Graydon and he says you killed -" Birdy's head was snatched back by her hair and she once again yelped in pain before the gag was stuffed back in her mouth.

"That's enough of that." Graydon hissed.

"You ain't my kid." Creed said, his voice low, with false steadiness.

"Ha! Take a good look Creed. Like FATHER, like son. Minus the mutant thing. But my suit compensates for that quite well, don't you think? Now, let me tell you what I'm gonna do. I'm gonna let you live. I'm going to make you feel my pain. I'm going to HAUNT you and I'm going to take the thing that matters most to you."

Creed saw a metallic glint aimed at Birdy's side and he instantly attacked, claws out, aiming for his Graydon' exposed neck. Reflexively the man ducked to the side, putting Birdy right into Victor's patch.

Blood splattered across his face and he heard a pained, muffled scream. The sound of roaring echoed in his ears, followed by a sound far more chilling. A slow, deep laugh.

And when the red cleared from his eyes, they widened in horror as blood dripped from his claws and Birdy's still body slumped to the floor.

Victor's head was spinning, trapped between anger and pain—a bone-deep kind of hurt that rang through his body and made him tremble as he watched the life slowly draining from her.

Seeming to sense the change coming over Victor, Graydon slowly began to beat a retreat back to the open door…

"I'm leaving you with your PAIN, Creed. Without her you are NOTHING. Without her you're simply an ANIMAL trapped in a man's body. Who will ease your pain, now? Who will keep your demons at bay? Who will soothe your nightmares now? Who will keep you _SANE_?"

With a snarl of anger, Creed turned and rushed him, grabbing Graydon by the neck and throwing him into the wall. Graydon backed up and beat a quick exit, running and quickly disappearing.

Victor didn't go after him. Instead he went to Birdy's still form, lifting her head gently. She was choking, he could tell, struggling to hold on to the last bit of life left…

"Boss…she shuddered in his arms as he held her. A small, bloody hand came up and touched his face, as he closed his eyes leaning into his touch.

The pressure in his chest ramped up as he squeezed her, her last words barely above a whisper.

_I love you…._

…

The people on the streets below paused in their steps hearing the anguished roar of a wounded animal over the sounds of a city night. Their blood curled, their hair stood on end, and goose bumps, accompanied with something akin to fear mixed with sympathy touched down on those within hearing distance.

**THE END**


End file.
